


Labours Great and Small

by northerntrash



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (Greek mythology is real but pretty much everything else is the same), Ace!Aziraphale, Ace!Crowley, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Good Omens Big Bang, Good Omens Big Bang 2019, Includes ART!, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mythology - Freeform, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, accidentally-Herakles!Aziraphale, definitely-not-a-Hydra!Crowley, elements of demythologisation, incompetent heroes and useless sidekicks, just lots of monsters, no explicit content, roadtrip around ancient Greece, still angels and demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22586485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northerntrash/pseuds/northerntrash
Summary: Sometimes the fell beast you’re sent to hunt down is actually just an old acquaintance stuck in a swamp. This sort of thing does not get included in the epic stories, no matter how hard you try.In which Aziraphale makes a very poor hero, and Crowley an even worse monster.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 191
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have had the pleasure of working with an incredibly talented artist and very dedicated beta for this bang! Many thanks to Weeardo0, who you can find on tumblr, for the amazing art that you will find littered throughout the fic: many thanks as well to saer-m, who has thoroughly beta'd this and has put up with my over use of the world 'rather' and rampant ignorance of capitalisation norms with great patience. Any mistakes left are, of course, all on me. 
> 
> Thanks for being great sports and for signing up to join me on this mission. 
> 
> To all readers old and new - welcome. I hope you enjoy.

Aziraphale hadn’t meant to offend an oracle.

Things had been much simpler when he’d first come down to Earth. One flaming sword, one garden, two humans, and one serpentine demon who occasionally seemed to forget that he was supposed to be Aziraphale’s enemy. One gate, one wall, one simple order. _Protect and guard_. But then the humans had left, and he had given his sword away, and before he knew it he was… well, he didn’t like to think of himself as lying to God, because that wouldn’t be very angelic, but he certainly had fudged the truth a bit. And then there had been twenty humans, then two hundred, then suddenly there were hundreds of thousands of them, millions spreading out across the globe, building cities and growing stronger and believing in all sorts of things.

When he had first come to the earth there had been one God, and one garden, and a handful of angels and demons. Now, there were many gods – note the lowercase. The problem that none of them had anticipated was that humans _thought,_ and humans _believed,_ and most worryingly, if enough of them believed hard enough then the lines between reality and not-reality started to blur, and things _became._

Those things were gods.

And then you ended up pissing one of them off.

“I am terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said. “Honestly, I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong. I certainly didn’t know that, um, Apollo would take quite as much offence. I wasn’t going to _take_ the tripod anywhere. I just wanted a look at it.”

The priests did not seem convinced. Perhaps part of it was the fact that Aziraphale’s ancient Greek was tinged with a very British accent, which was deeply confusing because neither the nation nor the language existed yet. Certainly they were not willing to change their minds on their ruling: twelve labours to the intruder who had dared to try and steal Apollo’s tripod from his most sacred sanctuary. He was to go around the great Kingdoms of the Hellenic world and convince the various Kings to let him fix a series of problems that they were facing. Only when he had succeeded at twelve of these tasks, all pre-chosen by the priests and handily listed on a scroll, would Apollo forgive his crimes. Aziraphale was slightly concerned that the scroll had already been written and ready, pulled from a worryingly large box that seemed to contain hundreds of other scrolls.

Now of course, Aziraphale was a divine representative of God (note the uppercase). Theoretically, the whims of any other god would not have bothered him unduly. In reality, however, other gods could make an angel’s life – well, hell, if it wasn’t too blasphemous a thought. And the god whose temple he was currently standing in was well known to be a little bit of a bitch.

The priests might not have been able to see him, but Aziraphale could feel the prickling on the back of his neck from the weight of Apollo’s glare. He tried a tentative wave in the god’s direction, but quickly surmised that was a bad idea from the look of complete disgust the god gave him in return.

In front of him, the oracle sat on her tripod, looking rather bored. It was a little disappointing to learn that all the smoke, inhalations, drugs, raving and poetry was a literary illusion with no basis in reality – at the very least, Aziraphale had hoped for a snappy bit of hexameter verse.

“Apollo isn’t happy,” the oracle told him.

“Well, I figured as much,” Aziraphale replied, neglecting to mention that the god in question was currently hovering by the altar, pouting.

“You have been corrupted by your treachery and impiety,” the oracle continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. Aziraphale pulled his shoulders back, his currently non-corporeal wings fluttering in offence. Rather out of order, that. Angels knew a thing or two about corruption (second-hand, obviously) and he was sure he would have noticed if he had been corrupted.

“To cleanse yourself of these crimes,” the oracle intoned. “You must complete twelve labours, great and mighty deeds.”

From behind him, Aziraphale could hear the sudden mumble of the assembled priests.

“Bloody oracle-”

“Why does this one always do labours?”

“Does she even-”

But Apollo was nodding emphatically, the gold from his sun-kissed hair lighting up the room and catching Aziraphale’s eyes irritatingly. Her work apparently done, the oracle jumped down from the tripod, looking quite a bit younger and less interested in proceedings now, and wandered off out of the temple. He turned instead to the priests, who had all adopted a look of great focus and piety, and were nodding very seriously at him.

“So the gods speak, so it must be done, or else a curse will follow your and your children until the destruction of your family line!”

Well, fat chance he’d ever procreate, but curses were irritating things to get rid of once they had latched on, and he had been meaning to take a bit of a break from the whole holy inspirations scene for a while now. Homer had been a right bastard to work with, and Aziraphale had met a fair few. He supposed he could manage wandering around Greece for a while, fixing the odd wall and curing plagues here and there. He could even write it off with Upstairs as divine deeds, and no one had to know he was only doing it to avoid the wrath of Apollo.

“Alrighty then,” he said. “Any idea where to start?”

One of the priests pulled a scroll from the inside of their robes.

“We’ve got a recommended twelve for you here,” he said. “We had to start compiling them, everyone is getting sent to do labours these days and it got a bit awkward. Multiple heroes turning up to try and sort out the same problem. Lots of arguments.”

“Lovely,” Aziraphale said, unrolling it with the practised ease of someone that has spent an awful amount of time reading.

He stared at the list.

“Oh, bugger,” he said to himself.

* * *

The King of Lerna was pretty happy with a hero turning up and promising to fix the biggest problem the kingdom currently had for free. Of course, he was less convinced when he actually saw the hero, who was holding his sword somewhat doubtfully and who looked like he would rather sit down with a nice scroll and a cup of wine, but the promise of free labour was hard to turn down. Kings in particular needed to be fiscally responsible if they wanted to go and have any fun wars without bankrupting the royal treasury.

It helped, of course, that this Kingdom had been bothered of late by a monster that had been living for a few decades at the swamp that bordered their lands, and the King was more than a little desperate to get rid of it.

“It is a mighty, fell-creature,” the King boomed at Aziraphale, a little unnecessarily given that the room they were in wasn’t particularly large. “Every one of my most noble warriors has failed to destroy it! They only managed to escape with great speed and cunning, otherwise no doubt they would have all been eaten.”

Aziraphale gulped, not really adding to King’s lack of confidence in him.

He couldn’t blame the King, he thought to himself as he left the palace. When he had read ‘slay the Lernaean Hydra’ listed as his first labour, he had felt rather discomforted. Even fell-creatures deserved life, as far as he was concerned, and though he hoped to reason with it and try and convince it to toodle off somewhere else, he was concerned that the beast would not respond well to reason. And the many stories he had been told since arriving in the Kingdom had only served to make him feel mildly nauseous. The Hydra was apparently a great serpent with many heads, sitting on the mouth to the Underworld, impossible to slay, invulnerable to magic and ritual, murderous and cruel. No one was quite sure what it looked like, since no one had ever managed to get a good luck at it before they ran away, but as Aziraphale approached the swamp where it apparently lived he had a sneaking suspicion that it probably wasn’t going to appreciate the arrival of an angel on a mission.

The swamp steamed, the stench of rot and decay around him, his feet – well, not actually sinking into the mud, because Aziraphale didn’t go in for that sort of thing, but if he had been a human then they definitely would have done. The mists seemed to swallow him as he approached the centre, where the Hydra was said to wait for its victims, and sure enough, as he got closer he could see the great hulking shape of the monster. His nerve frayed, almost enough to make him turn and flee, but he stepped closer still.

The form of the beast was growing clearer to him through the heavy air, towering above him, the hiss of its thousand mouths echoing around him like the languorous breath of death. Through the mist moved the sinuous shape of the dread Hydra, its breath hot on the cool air, coming closer and-

“Crowley, is that you?”

The mist cleared, and Aziraphale found himself looking at a familiar snake. Not huge at all, as it turned out – just sitting on a rock. The snake looked at him, flicking its tongue. The so-called monster had a vague sense of affront, as if offended that Aziraphale hadn’t recognised him instantly.

“Of course it’s bloody me. What the hell do you want?”

“What are you doing here?”

Crowley-snake stared at him. It was always rather disconcerting when he did this. He needed to blink a lot less in this form, which meant that he always won their unspoken staring contests. Aziraphale was definitely mature and sensible enough that this should not have bothered him, though somehow it still did.

“Trying to nap.”

Aziraphale’s mouth was a tight line. “In a swamp?”

“No, on a catamaran,” the demon replied, his voice the driest thing around for miles (although that wasn’t hard given the terrain). “Yes, in a swamp, I’m a big scary snake. I’m supposed to live in dark, grimy places. That’s what everyone thinks, so that’s where I am.”

This was added with a certain note of petulance that was probably not befitting one of the most successful demons of Hell, but that suited the snake currently curled up on itself.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started, rubbing at the end of his nose. It was impressive how much sarcastic venom the snake form managed to put out into the universe considering that he couldn’t properly pronounce several letters. It always managed to distract Aziraphale from his irritation, and today was no exception.

Crowley continued to watch him for a moment before retreating back into the coils of his body, tucking his head on top of himself.

“Look, I decided to have a bit of a time out. I’m fed up with humans. They’re exhausting.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, and Crowley made a rather disgruntled noise. “Every time you want to go and tempt them to do something terrible, it turns out they’ve done something far worse! You want them to play a simple prank and it turns out they’ve already pushed their father off a cliff. Honestly, it’s enough to make a demon feel redundant.”

Aziraphale frowned.

“But they said you had been here for fifty years?” No matter how irritated Crowley was, at heart he had always loved the world and its remarkable developments – he was the only other being Aziraphale had ever met that seemed to appreciate them the same way that the angel did. Now he thought about it, it was a bit odd that it had been so long since they had run into each other – he hadn’t thought too much about it because he’d been a bit distracted with that whole Gilgamesh affair. Fifty years was far too long for Crowley to have cut himself off from everything. If nothing else, Aziraphale was well aware that he got incredibly bored with the limited diet of a snake.

It was also remarkably difficult to order wine as a reptile.

“Well, yes. Alright, so I may have made a bit of a mistake,” Crowley said, yellow eyes flicking around the place.

“Shocking,” Aziraphale countered. He settled back onto a rock of his own, which rather suddenly found itself devoid of even a speck of dirt. The rock, which had been cultivating a particular patch of lichen for twelve years, made sure to be as uncomfortable as possible just to get back at him.

“You know, I swear you used to be more polite,” Crowley told him.

“You’re misremembering,” Aziraphale replied, vaguely, wondering if it would be possible to procure a beverage of some kind in the middle of a swamp – a nice wine would go down a treat right about now. Probably not. Oh well. “What happened?”

Crowley looked away.

“Nothing.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, with just enough warning in his tone to get the snake to coil tighter in on itself.

“I’m stuck this way, alright. Can’t turn back. And I didn’t feel like wandering around the earth as a snake. Too prone to getting stepped on, no matter how big and scary I make myself.”

Aziraphale snorted. It wasn’t very elegant for a being made of celestial light and stardust, but the only person around to see him was Crowley, and the demon always looked vaguely proud of himself whenever Aziraphale laughed at him like that.

“And how did you get stuck?” Aziraphale managed, after he had composed himself. Crowley flicked his tongue at him.

“A god trapped me.”

“What did you do?” Aziraphale asked. Wine might have been out of the question, he thought, but that didn’t mean a nice snack couldn’t corporate itself into existence.

“Why do you assume that I did something wrong?” Crowley said, right as a pear appeared in Aziraphale’s hands. The angel just looked at him with something vaguely approaching disapproval until Crowley was forced to relent under the weight of it.

“Alright, I accidentally ate one of her sacred dogs,” he hissed. If it made anyone feel better (it didn’t) he looked rather sheepish about it.

“How did you manage that?”

Crowley stared at him. “Big jaw.”

Aziraphale levelled a look at him that could have destroyed cities had it been so inclined. No doubt the goddess had been less than pleased with Crowley’s appetite and had responded within reason, and it probably would have served Crowley a good lesson to be stuck that way for a few centuries longer… but it was rather difficult conversing with a snake, and Aziraphale much preferred it when Crowley could pronounce his ‘s’ sounds properly. He waved a hand, something intangible and undeniably powerful glimmering briefly in the air between them for a moment. The snake seemed to sigh, before it stretched and morphed in that visually confusing way that Aziraphale preferred not to look at, and it was just regular Crowley again, dressed all in black, albeit with his hair quite a bit messier than normal.

“That feels a lot better,” he said as he rolled his shoulders (and, rather more alarmingly, his hips). Aziraphale resisted the urge to pull a face at him, but only by staring with sudden great interest at the ground.

“You could say thank you.”

Crowley performed a dramatic and mocking bow in his direction. “Thank you for freeing me from this god-ordained curse of thirty years.”

“I thought you’d been here for fifty years?” Aziraphale shot back, frowning. Crowley sent him an annoyingly winning smile in return.

“Yeah, the first twenty years was deliberate. I really was sick of humans.”

Which was not only highly relatable but was understandable too. Aziraphale was almost willing to let this whole episode go – if it had been anyone other than Crowley he probably would have done. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at the demon.

“Is this really an entrance to the Underworld, like everyone seems to believe?”

Crowley scoffed. “Of course not. Honestly angel, you’d have thought you’d never lied to anyone before.”

“They said that you were impossible to kill, I suppose that wasn’t true either?”

Crowley stared at him as if he was stupid. “I’m a demon. What, you think a basic bronze sword could discorporate me?”

“But what about the whole cutting off your head, growing back two more thing?” Aziraphale was aware that his lower lip was probably jutting out right now, but deep down he had been a little bit excited to meet a real-life monster, and finding out that it was just Crowley and a load of tricks was just a little bit disappointing. Albeit also a relief – at least now he wasn’t going to have to kill anything.

“Illusions.” Crowley snapped back, then scoffed as Aziraphale’s expression. “Oh, don’t look so disapproving. How else was I supposed to explain all this away? And none of this really explains the _actual_ question here, which is why the hell are you in my swamp with a great big sword in the first place? Trying to woo a princess?”

“Hysterical,” Aziraphale replied. “Obviously not. I’m on a series of heroic quests actually, and you were supposed to be my first, though now you have ruined that. Slaying the Hydra would have been a wonderful way to start this off, and now I’m going to have to go back to that darn king and say, ‘oh very sorry Your Highness, but it turned out that big monster was actually an old colleague, too bad, how awkward, see you later’. I can’t see that going down well at all, can you?”

To Aziraphale’s dismay, Crowley had taken a seat on a much more comfortable rock, and seemed to have acquired a cup of wine from somewhere. He looked, a little forlorn, at the remnants of his pear, most of which he had managed to eat without even noticing.

“Maybe you could just give me some of your sheddings, and I could tell them I killed you?”

Crowley looked at him with complete horror, as if Aziraphale had just asked for a pair of his underwear. “You’re an absolute idiot.”

Aziraphale sniffed. He could _smell_ that wine now. “I think it’s a rather good idea, actually.”

Crowley waved his hands – at first Aziraphale thought it was just for emphasis, but then another cup appeared, hovering above the ground in between them, clearly meant for Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t say anything about it, but he also didn’t say anything when Aziraphale _took_ it, which the angel read as a very good sign.

“Angel, I’m a demon, not a real snake. I don’t grow, so I certainly don’t shed.”

Aziraphale felt a momentary hope disappear. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Crowley said, looking more than a little regretful. “Don’t pout, if I did shed I’d give you enough skin to make a thousand tasteless handbags, but what can you do?”

Aziraphale looked forlornly into his cup.

“I honestly thought an apology would do. I really didn’t think I would have to go on all these quests. I was only _looking_ at the tripod, I have no idea why they thought I was going to run off with it like some common criminal. I was just appreciating the _art._ ”

“Argh, alright,” Crowley said, and waved his hand in the air. A tall, glass bottle appeared, held carefully between his fingers. He brought the open mouth of it to his lips and spat into it. Aziraphale winced.

“What _are_ you doing, Crowley?”

“Hang on a minute,” he replied, impatiently, frowning a little. A stopper appeared in the neck of the bottle, and then Crowley shook it. The liquid rolled inside, thickening, growing, turning a viscous red.

“There you go,” Crowley said, once the bottle was full. “The blood of the Lernaean Hydra. Sort of. Close enough, anyway. Bodily fluids, what’s the difference when it comes down to it?”

Aziraphale creased up his nose. “I suspect there is rather a lot of difference, my dear. But that doesn’t explain what on earth you’re expecting me to do with that?”

Crowley shrugged. “Tell them it’ll heal something. They’ll be so impressed they won’t ask for any further details, and you can just wander off, mission accomplished, et cetera et cetera.”

“ _Will_ it heal anything?” Aziraphale asked, dubious, as he took it from Crowley with the ends of his fingers, not exactly all that keen to touch it.

Crowley shrugged, languorous. “You really are rubbish at this supernatural business, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale scowled.

“Sure it will,” Crowley relented. “If you want it to, it’ll do anything, angel. That is sort of the whole point of us and our spooky powers. What do you want it to do?”

“Oh, um…”

“Kids,” Crowley said, almost immediately. “It can cure kids of any disease. Just smudge a bit on their forehead. Perfect.”

He glared at the bottled.

“It’ll work every time,” he said, somewhat threateningly. The contents of the bottle shivered, as if in terrified agreement.

Aziraphale sighed, rolling the bottle – now suspiciously sparkly, as if trying to impress. “I don’t know if that will be enough to convince them.”

“You’re an angel,” Crowley deadpanned.

“You say that like it makes anything possible.”

Their cups filled up. Crowley lounged back against his soggy rock as if it were a velvet couch, looking effortlessly comfortable even in the middle of this god-forsaken swamp. “The problem with you is that you lack imagination.”

It may have been a little bit true, which was why Aziraphale’s responding glare lacked punch. “The problem with you is that you have too much.”

Crowley grinned. “I’ll come back with you, talk to the King. Help out.”

The demon stood up, stretching his arms upwards. Aziraphale’s eyes followed him without quite meaning to. Crowley looked slightly out of proportion from this perspective, tall enough that he could touch the sky, his hair the burning nebulas of galaxies hidden from view. These thoughts were strange and uncomfortable though, so Aziraphale tucked them away in the little box at the back of his mind that he never opened.

Crowley’s hair grew longer, falling in waves around a waist that seemed to have shifted shape ever so slightly. He was still grinning, though there was some subtle difference in the line of his jaw that made him look a little unfamiliar.

“I’ll be the innocent maiden the monster was keeping in his lair. I’ll vouch for you, say you managed to slay the mighty beast and save me.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look much like an innocent maiden.”

Crowley put a finger to the corner of her mouth, her smile turning into something coquettish, a thousand characters all rolled into one. “Are you flirting with me, Aziraphale?”

“Heavens,” Aziraphale replied, his voice dry as sand. “How could you tell?”

Crowley stuck out her tongue, before looking back down at her body. She frowned at it until it finished changing, her clothes twisting and moving around him until they better fit the era’s standards for women’s clothes, albeit quite a bit skimpier than may have been necessary.

“How about that, any better?” she asked.

Aziraphale sighed. “For this, yes. But for the record, I preferred you the other way.”

Crowley fluffed her hair. “You old flatterer.”

“This is all very well, but they’re going to realise that we lied eventually, when they come back here and you’re still lying on a rock. And if the Hydra’s still here, I haven’t actually completed a labour, have I?”

“Oh, I’m not sticking around,” Crowley said, reaching a hand out to pull Aziraphale to his feet. She frowned at him before adjusting the pin on Aziraphale’s cloak a little. “That’s quite enough swamp time for me.”

Oh, well, of course. That was probably a bit silly of him, wasn’t it? Aziraphale had freed Crowley from a curse after all – no doubt there were many places the demon had been waiting for decades to visit or revisit.

“Where are you heading to then?” he asked, trying hard to not let his disappointment show in his voice. It had been quite pleasant to see Crowley – although the demon would not have appreciated that description. It would have been quite nice to know where Crowley was based for a bit, just so he had somewhere definitive to stop by now and again to see how the old demon was doing. Not that he was particularly invested in Crowley, of course. But there weren’t many representatives of either side living on Earth, and none of the others made for interesting company.

“Oh, I’m going with you, of course,” Crowley said, slinging an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Normally the angel would have shrugged it off, but he was surprised enough to let it stay, to let Crowley begin to lead him out of the swamp,

“What?” he said, sounding far less intelligent than he knew he actually was. Crowley was beaming, her free hand patting at her clothes, looking for something – ah, of course. From an indeterminate place within the folds of fabric, Crowley withdrew a pair of those odd things she had invented a number of decades back, the dark-tinted sliced crystals that covered those yellow eyes to hide them from the attentions of mortals.

“Eleven more labours?” Crowley said, looking unaccountably pleased with herself. “This will be _fantastic_.”

* * *

Much to Aziraphale’s consternation, the King of Lerna had indeed believed them implicitly, and declared Aziraphale’s first trial complete. Annoyingly, he also seemed rather taken with Crowley, and propositioned her several times, trying very hard to convince the demon to stay and become his Queen (much to the aggravation of the actual Queen, who Aziraphale had to charm to the best of his abilities to keep them out of any trouble). Eventually, however, they extracted themselves from what was turning into a very awkward situation and headed north through the Peloponnese to Nemea, the location of the second of Aziraphale’s listed labours.

“What on earth is a lion doing in Greece anyway?” Crowley complained as they went, having shifted back into his more conventional male form. “Pretty sure that’s not a part of the natural ecosystem, angel. Think someone Upstairs is having a laugh at your expense?”

“I’d be more likely to assume that one of your lot was responsible,” Aziraphale retorted, though without much conviction – the destroyed settlements and abandoned farmsteads were making him feel a bit uncomfortable, and were not very reassuring. “Oh, look, smoke!” he called as he caught sight of it over the treeline.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Not sure that lions have grasped the concept of ovens yet.”

Aziraphale ignored that, rather deliberately, and led them in that direction, hoping there might be someone around who could explain exactly what it was they were supposed to do, and where they might find the next fell-beast on his list. Through the trees they found a small village, tucked away and out of sight. Near the outskirts a young boy appeared to be collecting firewood, and Aziraphale approached him immediately.

“Oh, do excuse me,” he said, as the boy caught sight of them. “Tell me, what is this place?”

“Kleonai,” the boy replied. “Who wants to know?”

“Oh, just two travellers out for a wander, nothing to worry about, nothing suspicious here at all,” he said, thinking he sounded convincing until he caught sight of Crowley’s exasperated expression.

“Are you gods?” the boy asked, narrowing his eyes at them with great suspicion. “You don’t talk like any humans I’ve ever met, and Mum says there are all kinds of wild things living in the woods these days.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley cut across before Aziraphale did anything stupid like tell the truth. “Lovely gods, that’s us. Full of godly… ness. Now, we’ve been told you’re having something of a lion problem?”

The boy’s eyes went wide.

“The Nemean Lion!” he gasped. “Are you really here to get rid of it? Only they say it cannot be slain.”

“Lots of people say that sort of thing,” Crowley grinning. “Doesn’t make it true.”

“But the Nemean Lion is a terrible creature,” the boy said. “They say it is the offspring of the serpent beasts Typhon and Echidna-”

“Definitely not true,” Crowley muttered to Aziraphale. “Can tell you that now – I’m both of them, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never self-impregnated then popped out a lion. It’s the kind of thing you’d remember.”

“Are you every snake in mythology?” Aziraphale snapped back. “Honestly Crowley, pick an identity and stick with it.”

The little boy was still going, oblivious to them.

“Its golden fur is impervious to attack, its claws are sharp enough to cut through any armour! It snatches children from its bed, and eats alive any man that tries to kill it!”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley said. “Brrrr, terrifying. Now, know where it likes to lurk? Every monster has a good lurking place. Quiet cave somewhere, maybe?”

“Will you truly kill it?”

For some reason the boy was staring right at Aziraphale, but it was still Crowley that replied.

“Oh, we’ll sort it right out, don’t you worry.”

“If you do, I’ll see that the town sacrifices a bull to Zeus in your honour-“

“Terrific,” Crowley interrupted, sounding bored now.

“And if you don’t, I’ll throw myself on a pyre, divine masters. I’ve had quite enough of living in fear, better to be an offering to a god than lion-food. If other gods can’t kill the lion, then nothing can, and I’d rather die myself.”

“Wait, what?”

But the boy skipped away to the village, arms loaded with firewood.

“Well, thanks ever so, Crowley, now we have to sort this lion out or a child dies. I do hope you’re happy. What on earth were you doing, telling him we were gods?”

But Crowley was staring after the child, looking just a little lost, and Aziraphale remembered suddenly the demon’s affront at the Great Flood, the look of horror in his face when Aziraphale had confirmed that children too would die. Aziraphale looked away, but it wasn’t enough to stop himself remembering that night: storms lashing the sides of the ark, rolling in a sea that seemed cursed, the flashes of lightning through the hatch the only light as Aziraphale smuggled water down to a room he had ensured Noah wouldn’t notice, where Crowley sang quiet songs to the children he had smuggled aboard.

Demons always ran terribly hot to the touch, but it was useful, those long nights in the cold hull of the ark. The children had huddled around him, all those he had managed to convince to come with him.

Aziraphale probably shouldn’t have helped him. It was a direct middle finger to the Grand Plan, after all – those children were supposed to die. But there was no way he could have said no without tarnishing his own soul, not really.

Besides, he wasn’t really sure how Noah’s family were supposed to repopulate the earth without some major inbreeding issues, so it all worked out in the end.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, awkwardly reaching out to pat Crowley’s shoulder. “Knowing our luck, it’ll be another darn demon hiding out and we can convince them to go elsewhere.”

Before he could continue with his awkward attempt to make Crowley feel better, there came a tremendous roar, making the leaves above them shake. It was monstrous and terrible and quite definitely that of a lion – one rapidly approaching. His initial instinct was to flee immediately in the opposite direction, but Crowley already had a look of steely-eyed determination that stopped him short. It would be unfair to leave Crowley to deal with all this when it was his fault they’d ended up here in the first place, after all.

Aziraphale looked down at the sword in his hand, and swallowed.

“I’m not a big fan of killing things, you know,” he mumbled.

“Pity,” Crowley replied. “I’m not sure this lion has the same scruples.”

Through the trees burst the monstrous shape of the lion – and what a lion it was. Three times larger than any lion that had ever lived, its fur did indeed gleam with an ethereal beauty, its claws leaving great rends in the earth in its wake. It charged towards them, and Crowley immediately disappeared. Aziraphale said something that was definitely not a swear word and leapt out of the way as the lion charged at them.

“Crowley!”

“Well, you’re in a right old pickle now, aren’t you?” the demon said. Aziraphale looked around only to find Crowley’s snake form hanging from a branch next to him, looking unimpressed with the whole affair.

“You are not being very helpful,” the angel retorted as the lion turned on them once again, its hot breath steaming in the air as it pawed at the ground, preparing to attack again.

“Yes, yes. Now this one, I can promise you, isn’t actually an old friend in disguise.”

“I gathered that,” Aziraphale snapped.

“Are you going to kill it?” Crowley asked, and despite what he had been considering Aziraphale knew the answer.

“I don’t think I can, my dear,” he shook his head, and Crowley’s human form reappeared on the branch, balancing with surprising elegance.

“Well, we have to do something, I’m not having that kid on my conscience.”

The lion roared its fury again, and began to charge, but before it could take even a couple of steps Crowley snapped his fingers, and the lion seemed to… disappear. As did Crowley’s clothes.

“I didn’t know you had a conscience,” Aziraphale managed, rather bewildered. It lacked the punch of their normal banter, but in his defence, he was a little thrown. It took him a moment to realise that Crowley’s clothes were not gone, merely draped across one arm, and that the lion too was still there – only now it seemed to be occupying a smaller, sleeping form.

“You turned it into a cat?” Aziraphale asked, as Crowley jumped down from the branch.

“Couldn’t think of a better idea. It’ll have all the anger and assuredness of the lion it once was, but luckily everyone expects that of a cat anyway, so no one should notice. I’m sure it will be adopted by a well-meaning old woman who thinks it’s a darling almost immediately, and it will be uncommonly good at catching vermin.”

“Crowley, you’re naked,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. Crowley grinned at him, and Aziraphale could have sworn he was shaking his hips far more than necessary as he wandered over to the unconscious house cat, nudging it very gently with this tip of his foot.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent observational skills?” he said, seemingly satisfied with the cat. He turned instead to the clothes thrown over his arm, shaking them out carefully until they transformed into a great lion skin, the exact colour of the lion-turned-cat’s fur.

“There,” he said, with some satisfaction. “Honestly Aziraphale, you’re going to have to start sorting out your own proof, I can’t keep finding ways to convince people you finished the jobs, you know. I can’t fix everything for you all the time. Now we just pop to the village, show off the lion skin, tell them all that they will be bothered by this beast no more, see if anyone wants to adopt a cat – complete coincidence, just found it wandering around outside, seems very friendly – and job done.”

Aziraphale scowled. “I’m certain we could have used my cloak for that, rather than _all your clothes_.”

Crowley tossed his hair over his shoulder, looking unsurprisingly unconcerned.

“The sacrifices I make, darling.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Are we nearly there yet?”

Aziraphale fought the urge to roll his eyes as Crowley repeated himself for the fourth time in the last hour.

“I wouldn’t have come with you if I’d known we were going to walk everywhere.”

“No one asked you to come with me in the first place, Crowley.”

The demon turned on him rather dramatically, hand over his heart, as if he had been mortally wounded.

“That’s hardly true, and you know it. Your desperate expression said everything.”

Aziraphale deigned not to respond, which he had been forced to do often in the lengthy walk to Keryneia. It was fortunate that neither of them actually had to sleep, or eat, otherwise this trip may have taken an unreasonable length of time – and Crowley was complaining enough as it was.

“Where are we going, anyway? You keep marching off without telling me what we’re supposed to be doing, angel.”

“As I keep telling you, you just weren’t listening: you were still crowing over getting that woman to adopt your hell-cat.”

Crowley was grinning, and despite himself Aziraphale found his mouth twitching too.

“You have to admit, that was a very impressive temptation.”

“It says a lot about that thing that you had to _tempt_ a lonely woman into adopting a cat.”

It had taken longer than Aziraphale had wanted to get away from Nemea and that darned cat, not in the least because once it had woken up being carried by Crowley it had reacted in the most cat-like way imaginable, by clawing Crowley’s robes to ribbons and attacking his hair with such violence that it resembled a bush by the time they eventually managed to get rid of it. The sight had given Aziraphale a buoyant satisfaction that had lasted him for a few miles.

“But we should probably have a think about how we’re going to handle the next task. We got through the last one by the skin of our teeth, and I think we might want to start planning ahead. No killing this time, thankfully. It is another animal though – apparently this one is a deer.”

Crowley scowled. “And what are we supposed to do with it?”

“Ummm… capture it, I think,” Aziraphale replied, digging out the scroll and squinting at it within some bewilderment.

“What, just capture it?”

“Apparently.”

“Why on earth are we doing that?” Crowley said. He appeared to have acquired some grapes from somewhere, and was popping them one after another into his mouth. They looked rather delicious, but there was no way Aziraphale would ask for any of them.

“Some king wants it for his gardens,” he said, instead. Crowley’s reply was equal parts disgusted and amused.

“What, and a regular human couldn’t just go and get it?” he said. He threw a grape high into the air, catching it in his mouth with an enviable ease, before he flapped at Aziraphale’s hands, taking the scroll and depositing the grapes in them instead.

“Evidently not, my dear.”

“Alright, fancy deer, give it to a fancy king, off we pop. Sounds easy enough.” Crowley squinted at the scroll before rolling it back up and tucking it back into Aziraphale’s belt. He didn’t ask for his grapes back though, so Aziraphale promptly began eating them, completely ignoring Crowley’s sideways glance of satisfaction. “What do we know about it, then?”

“Apparently it can outrun arrows,” Aziraphale said, around a mouthful of fruit. Crowley folded his arms, looking a little sulky.

“I could outrun arrows if I wanted to. It doesn’t need to show off.”

“It’s sacred to Artemis, the goddess of the hunt-”

Crowley stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, bollocks.”

Aziraphale shoved the last of the grapes in his mouth, just in case. “What?”

“Umm…”

“What have you done?”

“Remember that sacred dog I ate?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Artemis’.”

“Oh, you’re an absolute nightmare, do you know that?” the angel said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Honestly. Why on earth would you want to go around eating dogs anyway? There are much more practical sources of meat! And you don’t need to eat!”

Crowley managed to pull off the wildly contradictory motions of shrugging and leering at the same time. “Sometimes you just need the visceral satisfaction of sinking your teeth into something hot, angel.”

It was difficult to stop himself going red at that, but he rather thought he pulled it off in the end.

“So all we have to do is catch a deer that runs much faster than us without being caught by a goddess who cursed you last time she saw you, and whose twin brother cursed _me.”_

Crowley nodded emphatically.

“I’m sure we won’t have any problems, darling.”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “You know it could take us months to even find the thing?”

“Not at all. Have you not noticed? That’s not how this sort of thing works. Some boss upstairs has decided that they can’t afford to sit around waiting for us to have a nice camping trip – they’ll make sure things happen nice and promptly.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Ineffable?”

“Always.”

“Urgh. So, I suppose if we round the next corner, we’ll find…”

“You better believe it.”

“So, trying to plan anything out in advance?”

“Fundamentally useless,” Crowley replied. “But if you haven’t noticed, we do our best work on the fly. Trying to plan only complicated our natural brilliance.”

“You’re a cretin,” Aziraphale sighed. “And I hope you’re ready to run really, really fast.”

One corner, and there it was, just as predicted. Another mythological creature of great import, coincidentally right in their path. The hind – for it was certainly female, Aziraphale’s celestial knowledge told him, despite its antlers – was astonishingly beautiful. Twice the size of a regular hind, its antlers stretched to the sky and gleamed, solid gold. Its steps were graceful, elegant, but as it stepped against the ground there was a much louder sound than expected, and Aziraphale noted its hooves, made of bronze.

“Oh, isn’t she absolutely beautiful?” Aziraphale breathed as the deer regarded them with some concern.

“At least you don’t have to kill this one,” Crowley agreed. “It would be a shame.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “We just have to capture her… and take her to be a part of some sort of personal menagerie for some despotic and maniacal king.”

“Now, to be fair,” Crowley said, snapping his fingers just as the deer looked about the flee, freezing her in place. “You don’t know that he is despotic and maniacal. You’re making assumptions.”

“Is there any other kind of king likely to put out a labour like this? Who else would be quite so determined to get hold of a sacred animal?” Aziraphale retorted, making his way over to the hind. He rested a hand against her neck, closing his eyes. After a minute, her frantically rolling eyes slipped shut as well, and the tension seeped out of her body as she calmed under the tender touch of a member of the celestial host.

Aziraphale sighed.

“It does seem a terrible shame, doesn’t it?”

Crowley joined him. Demons did not calm animals as well as angels – sometimes, they had the exact opposite reaction – but he layered on his own power anyway, the deep obedience that demons excelled at. The deer’s hide was impossibly soft against his skin, and something clenched in his gut.

Aziraphale spent the entire walk to the palatial complex of the local king alternating between sighing mournfully and staring with great distress at the deer, who walked along between them, half enraptured by the angel and half under the spell of the demon, although Crowley had thrown a rope around its neck anyway, just to keep up appearances, even if the feel of it in his hands made him uneasy. Crowley had to admit that he didn’t feel particularly great about selling out this magnificent creature – he couldn’t help but see an uncomfortable parallel between the deer and himself, when he had been constrained to snake form. He would not have been eager to spend hundreds of years imprisoned in the palace gardens by a series of arrogant kings, being poked at by sticks wielded by generations of pretentious princelings.

But if Crowley was despondent, Aziraphale looked downright heartbroken at what they were going to do, and despite the many bunches of grapes Crowley had pushed on him as they walked, his expression did not lift. Even as they approached the palace, the King and a considerably large retinue of guards coming out to meet them, Aziraphale’s expression did not even twitch.

“Remarkably well done!” the King cried. “Labour achieved, indeed. I suppose you came from Delphi, did you? I sent the request there first, of course. Highest quality of heroes always come from Delphi.”

He eyed the deer with a look that Crowley was very familiar with. He dealt in greed and lust on the daily, after all. Aziraphale reached over, and pulled the rope from Crowley’s hands.

“You confirm we have achieved the labour, then?” he said. “Bit important to me, that is, you know.”

The King nodded, looking a little impatient, and Aziraphale took a step closer, holding out the rope to the King.

“Very well then,” he said. “She’s all yours.”

What happened next would have passed Crowley by if he was not blessed with a level of sight and process-recognition far beyond that of a human. The King impatiently grasped for the rope, which Aziraphale let him take without complaint. However, once the rope had definitely been passed over, it seemed to yank itself out of the King’s hand with unnatural determination, whilst almost simultaneously Aziraphale turned to whisper something in the ear of the deer. Coming back to itself, the hind immediately leapt away, the rope hanging loose behind her. The guards reached for it, and one even succeeded, but the knot that held the rope around her loosened and she was free, flying back in the direction of the forest from which she had come.

Crowley had tied that rope himself, and he was tremendously good with knots. They did not come undone by themselves. 

He glanced at Aziraphale. The angel looked rather pleased with himself, beneath a veneer of calm, mild surprise.

What a spectacular bastard.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “What a pity.”

“Best be off,” Crowley added. “Plenty to do, labours to complete, so on.”

“Look over there,” Crowley muttered. “Men with a cart, Aziraphale. Travelling pilgrims, I’m sure they wouldn’t be averse to giving us a lift if we ask _very_ nicely. Save our feet, and all that. Might be nice. And speedy.”

“You lazy old snake,” Aziraphale replied, though he was a little out of breath from walking _very quickly_ away from the guards and the King, who was still staring after them with a look of open-mouthed outrage.

“Race you there?” Crowley said, breaking into a run at the exact second the King started yelling.

* * *

Crowley was still grinning with delight several days later, as they were climbing the foothills of the Erymanthos mountains. Those rare moments in which Aziraphale showed his true colours were as precious and fine-tasting as a good wine, and letting that deer go was as good an example as Crowley had seen in an awfully long time.

The higher they got, the colder the air became, and already their breath was fogging in front of them. These highlands were wild places, where man had yet to sink their deepest claws, and the primitive magics of the earth still lingered beneath the soil: Crowley could feel it, through his feet, the wild stuff that She had made to shape all of this so very long ago, untamed and pure. It was a power beyond anything he could understand or control, dying now, and yet its lingering traces were still there, inspiring beasts like the Erymanthian Boar they had come here to hunt, and reaching out to his own power. Angels had been made from these same wild magics, after all, and once he had been an angel: like calls to like, and the magic brushed the feathers of his non-corporeal wings gently, with the fondness of recognition.

“I really do think we need to discuss what to do with this giant boar,” Aziraphale said, for the third time.

“It’s another whack and chop, it says so right there on the scroll no matter what you want to believe,” Crowley said, glancing around them. These mountains were sacred to Artemis, even if the boar wasn’t, and he was feeling a little on edge. It seemed too good to be true that he’d got away with avoiding her last time, and he did not want to push his luck any further than he had to.

“Yes, but we seem to have had good luck in _not_ killing,” Aziraphale said, _again._ “And I know I would feel a lot better if we could do the same here.”

“You’re a bloody angel, sing it to sleep,” Crowley snapped. It was a glib remark, but Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away. Crowley blinked. Of all the insults and petty comments he had thrown at the angel over the many years, he had not expected a remark about his singing to bother him.

“I’m not very good at that.”

“Singing lullabies?” Crowley asked, staring when he saw the rather embarrassed look in Aziraphale’s expression. “What?”

The angel seemed to find something in the distant peaks ahead of them suddenly fascinating.

“Does it look like it’s snowing up there?” he asked, but Crowley was not standing for that. He poked Aziraphale’s shoulder, hard enough that the angel looked back at him reflexively.

He wilted under Crowley’s scrutiny. “I was… umm… unfortunately kicked out of the angelic chorus.”

Crowley didn’t say anything at all, which Aziraphale clearly took to be confusion, because he continued to elaborate. “Apparently, I was very enthusiastic, but not… umm… all that good.”

“You want to watch that,” Crowley said, his voice just a little hoarse. “They throw you out for less than that.”

Aziraphale stared at him suspiciously. “Are you trying not to laugh?”

“Absolutely not,” Crowley lied.

“You are, aren’t you? You absolute beast!”

Crowley gave in then, the mental image of Aziraphale pouting in the back row of a choir as people shushed him too much to bear. But when he looked back over at Aziraphale, the angel was watching him with a question in his eye.

“I…” he started, before cutting himself off.

Crowley sighed. “What?”

“They say that you fell- oh, nevermind.”

Crowley swallowed, his throat suddenly thick and his laughter bitter in his mouth. He had brought this on himself, he realised, by making too relaxed a joke around what was, at the end of the day, a member of the opposition. Friends they might be, but it was too much to expect him to have no curiosity. He was the Serpent of the Garden, after all. A role of such high standing would normally equate to a past angelic rank of some note and fame.

“No, it’s alright,” he said, in the end. “What do they say?”

Aziraphale still looked embarrassed, although now it was for entirely different reasons.

“They say you fell because you asked too many questions.”

Crowley sighed. The air was cold enough here to hurt, just a little, when he breathed in too deeply – the promise of ice spiking at the lungs he did not even need to fill. He did it anyway, and would continue to do so, just for the satisfaction of pretending to live.

“Angel, I only asked one,” he said. It hurt, to say that out loud, but not quite as much as perhaps he had expected to.

“What was it?”

“She said that I had to raise my sword. That I had to ready myself for war.”

“And?”

He met Aziraphale’s eyes, blue and open and guileless. For a moment, he might have lost himself in them, had he not been on a mountainside in the middle of Greece with the imminent threat of a giant man-eating pig somewhere nearby.

“I asked Her why, Aziraphale. That’s all.”

There was sympathy in Aziraphale’s eyes, pain and emotion and all together too much feeling, so Crowley grinned, sharp and probably lacking humour.

“Come on, old thing. Enough of this. Pig to hunt, sausages to make, you know the drill.”

Aziraphale stared after him as Crowley moved off, further up the hill, slowly making his way towards the snowline. He could sense that he had rather put his foot in it, although he wasn’t entirely sure how. Nonetheless, he felt somewhat guilty as they spent the next couple of hours traipsing around, following the tracks of a boar that evidently had absolutely no desire to be found. The only problem was, when they actually did find the boar, it was old and tired, and hunkered down to sleep in the twilight with a whole host of offspring around it.

“What was the exact wording of the labour, again?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale dutifully pulled out his scroll.

“Subdue the mighty Eurymanthian Boar,” he recited. “So that it might never again taste human flesh.”

They glanced at each other.

“Not much of a miracle to take away the desire for people-meat, is it?” Crowley asked, head tilted. “Not sure upstairs would even notice if you did that. And technically, the word ‘slay’ wasn’t in the missive. If no one says slay, you’re off the hook, old friend.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and Crowley took out the scroll. After a moment, the task faded from the scroll until it was barely readable, just as the previous tasks had done once completed. Despite having no king to verify their success, it had been counted.

“Good job, angel.”

Boar successfully subdued, they hunkered down for the night. Neither of them particularly fancied traipsing down the mountainside in the snow and the dark, not when there was a handy copse of trees and ground that found itself _very suddenly_ free from snow to lie down on. A fire started, although it wasn’t entirely certain how it had come into being, nor where its oak logs had come from, seeing as there was nothing but pine trees for miles. Minor identity crisis aside, it was a good fire, warm and secure, a barrier of light against the darkness of the wild night. You never could tell what sort of thing might be watching in a feral place like this. Aziraphale was glad of the fire when they lay down, just a little apart, though he realised very quickly that he was not going to be able to rest. Crowley had cut off their conversation earlier, but it had stuck with him.

“Angel, I can feel you thinking from over here,” Crowley huffed.

Aziraphale gave up on his pretence and rolled over, shuffling awkwardly across the slightly damp ground until he was lying next to Crowley. He didn’t look at the demon, couldn’t quite manage to do so, but he could see the firelight caught in his red hair, just out of the corner of his eye. Rubies and smoke, and from the bonfire came the earthy smell of burning wood. Those were the things he saw in his nightmares when he dreamed of Falling.

“What was your name, before you fell?” he asked. Crowley shifted beside him, just a little: had Aziraphale not been so aware of the demon beside him, had he not asked such a provoking and intimate question, he might have been fooled into thinking the demon was just trying to get comfortable against the hard earth.

“Surely you’ve heard that one, too?” Crowley replied, after just a beat too long.

“No – I’ve heard rumours, but no one seems to know for certain.”

Crowley sighed, into the cooling night.

“Well, maybe that’s for the best. Sometimes things should be forgotten, angel.”

Aziraphale moved, just a little, pressing the back of his hand against Crowley’s. He could feel the sharp ridges of Crowley’s knuckles against his skin, but he reached no further. It would have been easy to grasp for Crowley’s fingers, to entwine their hands, but still, he did not. Perhaps he was scared. Perhaps this was enough. Perhaps it was both, and more reasons besides, that Aziraphale did not fully know how to articulate. He left his hand where it was nonetheless, and focused back on their conversation.

“Not who you are. Not what you did – all the good you did.”

Crowley laughed. “What about the bad?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replied, more truthfully than he had meant to. “I think I’m supposed so say that the bad should not be remembered, but I don’t know if I believe that. I don’t know what I believe – I don’t know if I have the answers.”

“That’s okay, you know. It’s alright not to have the big answers. I think that’s the best thing about being down here. We’re so small. So many humans, so many gods, so many countries.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the sky, spread out dark above them. “So many stars in the skies, and none of them watching us. No one cares, Aziraphale.”

“Is that freedom?” Aziraphale asked, with a wry smile. Crowley wasn’t watching him, though – he was too busy, eyes following the patterns of constellations known only to him.

“Maybe it is,” Crowley replied, voice half obscured by the crackling of the logs in the fire, slowly shifting as they fell to embers against the forest floor. “Would that be so bad?”

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley’s weight was a warm line down his side, his hand flaring with heat, as if he was holding a falling star.

“Your name?” he asked again, but the demon just shook his head, the earth beneath them releasing the smell of sweet bay and pine between them.

“My name is Crowley,” he replied. “It’s the name I chose, and the only one I care to own. That choice was mine, in a lifetime of having so few, and having that means more than any name I might have once had.”

Aziraphale felt, perhaps, like he could understand that. This night was his, too: it did not belong to the heavenly host, to Gabriel or the others, not to any gods of this world who might be watching, nor even to Her, wherever she was. They might see, they might even understand, but none of them would ever know the beauty of the night, the warmth of his friend, the steady burn of something bright and brilliant in his chest.

“I’m glad you came with me,” he told Crowley. It felt weak, laughably meaningless compared to the feelings inside him, but Crowley seemed to understand. The demon turned to look at him, eyebrows raised slightly, eyes turned golden and glowing in the darkness.

He didn’t say anything, but he smiled at Aziraphale, as if he knew everything the angel was failing to say.

* * *

“I get the feeling that this next one is supposed to teach us a lesson,” Aziraphale said the next morning, as they headed west across the Peloponnese to the lands of King Augeas. “All the other seem to have been designed to show how impressive the hero was, but this one just feels a little bit embarrassing. I imagine a fair few heroes might refuse to do it on the principle that they’re too good for it.”

Crowley, who was looking much more relaxed now they were out of the sacred lands of Artemis again, cocked his head in an unspoken question.

“Apparently, we have to find King Augeas, and muck out his stables.”

“Forgive me angel, but that doesn’t really sound like much of a heroic labour – seems like the thing you’d get the stable boy to do.”

“Ah!” Aziraphale said, raising a finger. “Precisely! That is what the hero is supposed to say, rather than just doing it and showing his humility.”

“I’m not mucking out horses, Aziraphale. I’m sorry to say you are entirely on your own with this one.”

Aziraphale was fine with that. He rather liked animals, and miracle-ing away a bit of dung felt like the perfect recompense for the distress he had been causing animals over the last few tasks. They made their way to the Kingdom despite Crowley’s increasing expressions of disgust as they drew closer and closer.

“Okay,” Aziraphale said as they stood on a hillside overlooking the city. “It does have a potent smell. I’ll give you that.”

“How many bloody horses does this King need? You should _not_ be able to smell his stables from this far away.”

“It is a bit concerning, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t hard to find the stables, given that they took up over half of the city. They were vast, full of huge and beautiful horses of all different colours and breeds. It didn’t take the eyes of an angel and demon to realise there was something godly at work in their design: they were divinely healthy, excessively long-lived, and consumed vast amounts of food – hundreds of people were at work shovelling feed into the troughs that lined the walls. Unfortunately, that was evidently balanced out with an excessive amount of dung, and a smell that was suffocating within the heat of the stables. They stared in abject horror. Some of those dung piles were taller than a human.

It was fortunate that the two of them had the ability to remove their sense of smell, but they couldn’t help but feel sorry for the other people hard at work inside, who had to live with strips of oil-soaked fabric stuffed up their noses.

“I know, it’s something to see, isn’t it?” came a voice from the side. The head stablemaster appeared to have spotted them, half her face wrapped up in fabric. “Don’t get me started on the flies in the summertime.”

“Working conditions,” Crowley commiserated, shaking his head. “What you people need is a union.”

The stablemaster shot him a confused look. That happened fairly often – Crowley had the great gift of seeing glimpses of the future, and an awkward absentmindedness that meant he often forgot what belonged to what time period.

“It looks like no one has cleared it out for decades!” Aziraphale said, swiftly changing the conversation.

“Standard rumour is thirty years,” she told him. “The King likes to say that, makes it all sound a bit more dramatic. Truth of it is that we do it every week – it takes three days to clear, and then three days later it’s full again. There are just too many horses, and no easy way to clear out this much stuff. I’m guessing you’re another hero set on doing it? You’re welcome to have a go with the clean-up crew when they start tomorrow, but it’s messy work. You might want to consider just finding another labour.”

“Certainly not,” Aziraphale said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’m not one to back down from a fight.”

“That’s exactly what you are, angel,” Crowley remarked as the stablemaster shot them a weird look and wandered off. “I’ve never actually seen you follow through with a fight, you know that? Every time the angels are supposed to smite something, you always seem to find yourself curiously occupied with something very, very important, very, very far away.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I meant fight in a figurative sense.”

“So, you’re going to figuratively clear these stables?”

Aziraphale glared at him. “I might.”

Crowley stared at him, his face twisted into the confused and exasperated expression reserved solely for those who cannot tell if a certain Angel of the Lord is joking or not. “You’re not actually going to clean these stables, are you?”

“Well, I’m sure it won’t take too long,” Aziraphale replied beatifically.

“Angel, have you _looked_ at this place?”

Crowley talked off, leaving Aziraphale to contemplate the mess in front of him. It was irresponsible, was what it was. These poor horses, having to spend all this time around enormous piles of dung, with no fresh air or nice big fields to run around in (Aziraphale’s knowledge of most animals was purely hypothetical and a little unclear. He had a vague sense that horses liked fields, and not much else, but those blurred ideas were ones he stuck to with a deep fervour).

He was still thinking about nice fields and wildflowers when he became aware that his feet were wet.

He looked down. The entire stables appeared to be flooding, the people and horses fleeing for the exit. He sighed, and stepped above the water line, which was rapidly rising, and watched as the great rush of water knocked over the dung piles, slowly washing it all away.

“Crowley, I think that was cheating.”

The demon appeared with a gentle pop in the air next to him. His arms were folded, and he looked rather pleased with himself.

“Look, I’m not sitting around here for months whilst you muck out stables when there was a perfectly good couple of rivers out there that only needed a minor prompting to change course and flow through the centre of the city. I’ve left some notes with the main building company in town – I think there’s a kind of dam they could rig up so they can do it themselves.”

Aziraphale was still levelling him an unimpressed look, and Crowley threw his hands up in the air. “Stables clean, only minor flooding, what’s the big deal?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You really are something, do you know that?”

“I think we’re getting better at this labours thing, you know.”

“These are my labours, not yours!”

Crowley shrugged. “I’m helping!”

“I don’t know if diverting two rivers, flooding a city and polluting the local water sources with all that horse dung is really helping.”

“I’ll give you that one,” Crowley replied, wincing.

“We could have miracled it away.”

Crowley pulled a face. “Well _, now_ you have an idea.”

He risked a glance at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye, but to his relief, the angel did not look too angry with him. He was apparently too busy watching the water, which was slowing, the levels dropping, as the rivers reverted to their original courses (Crowley had only convinced them to change routes for a little bit after all, he wasn’t a complete animal. There were children living in this city). As the floors of the stables slowly came back into view, he was pleased to note that they were, in fact, clean. There might have been better methods, sure, but you couldn’t argue with results, he thought with some satisfaction as they returned to the slightly damp floor.

“Where are you going?” Crowley asked, as Aziraphale stalked away, his arms folded across his chest and his expression surprisingly grim.

“We need to have a chat with this King about proper horsemanship.”

It took three hours, but by the time the angel and demon walked out of the city walls, the King had been thoroughly lectured, and had rethought his stance on livestock ownership significantly. From that day on, the city had some of the most progressive laws on animal rights, though for the life of them none of its citizens were really sure where they had come from. All they did know was that the King started to tremble in the vicinity of anyone with white hair, leading to a huge increase in demand for hair dyes over the next few years. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Please, great hero, we need your help!”

Crowley and Aziraphale blinked at the messenger. He had appeared in front of them in the small taverna where Aziraphale had been partaking of a lovely meal, and Crowley had been doing his best to drink the place dry. They probably should have been doing something efficient and practical with their time, but there was little that could get between Aziraphale and a lunch when he decided he was hungry, and they had been walking for quite a while prior to arriving at the city. Given that there had been no immediate monster rampaging around them, Crowley hadn’t felt the need to protest.

Crowley took a sip of his wine (average but palatable) as Aziraphale beamed up at the messenger, who was panting heavily.

“Oh, do you? That’s very useful, we were looking for someone to help.”

“Umm,” the messenger said, clearly a little wrong-footed, perhaps expecting more protestation.

Aziraphale patted his mouth gently with a napkin that had definitely not been provided by the taverna, and stood up, gesturing for Crowley to follow. “Very good,” he said, delighted. “Lead on, tell me more, I do like to help where I can.”

The messenger was still standing there, and Crowley flicked a finger at him, a small shot of persuasion that danced around his eyes in a shower of red sparks for a moment before settling into the skin. The messenger straightened up, the curiosity and confusion falling away from him for the moment, and he started leading them outside.

“You don’t need to always do that, you know,” Aziraphale told him in a low murmur.

Crowley pulled a face.

“Do what? Make your life easier?”

The messenger took them to the palace, straight through the gates and across a great courtyard into the throne chamber, where the King (tall, handsome, big fancy diadem, looked like every other king Crowley had ever seen) was reclining in his throne.

“Great hero!” the King announced, jumping to his feet. “Long have we waited for someone to come to Arcadia to help us with our troubles. Great woes have befallen us, many is the dawn that has arrived soaked with blood and terror.”

“Likes the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?” Crowley, whispered. Aziraphale jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“They have been terrorising the farmers, destroying the crops and the fruit trees across the land.”

“So, when they say blood, he really means fruit juice?”

“Hush, Crowley!”

“Please, great hero, slay for us the Stymphalian birds!”

Crowley blinked. “What are they, then?”

The king stared at him, sagging, a little uneasily. Crowley tended to have that effect on people, no matter how big their crowns were.

“They’re… birds,” the King replied eventually.

“Yes, we did get that, but I suspect they aren’t your average sparrow, are they?”

The King composed himself a little, drawing himself up to his full height again in an attempt to regain his regality, his voice booming through the candlelit room. “They are flesh-eating birds, who carry away men for their feasts. Their beaks are of bronze, their feathers sharp enough to kill, and their dung a deadly poison!”

“Who figured that part out?”

The King blinked. “What?”

“Well, did someone eat the dung? Who realised that it was poisonous? What sort of society are you running here, where people go around eating bird poo?” He had more to ask, but Aziraphale intervened, slapping a hand across Crowley’s mouth.

“Many thanks, great King,” Aziraphale said, with a funny sort of bow. “We’ll head off now, sort out those birds for you, be back in a jiffy.”

The angel dragged him out of the throne room, not letting go until they were safely outside the palace again.

“You never let me have any fun,” Crowley complained, as they made their way out of the city. Aziraphale shot him a _look_ through narrowed eyes.

“You have far too much fun as it is,” he said, pulling their scroll from his sleeve and unrolling it as they walked, scanning the entries. “Oh yes, look, they are on this list of tasks already, isn’t that useful?”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Crowley told him, his nose up in the air.

“Of course you don’t,” Aziraphale said, not really paying all that much attention. “Oh dear. Apparently, they can launch their feathers through the air, incapacitating or killing their victims.”

“That just seems like an unnecessary feature of evolution.”

“Hush!” Aziraphale said, flapping the list in his direction. “You know we’re not supposed to talk about evolution.”

They left the city, heading in the direction of the place the scroll claimed the birds could be found. Crowley was just about to start complaining about the state of his feet when the sound came to him, a beautiful warble of birdsong trilling through the air, a thousand creatures in perfect chorus. It sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before, an echoing sound that made the hairs on his arms stand up.

“They sound quite nice, don’t they?” Aziraphale said, in an awed hush.

“I‘m sure you’ll be less impressed when they’re gouging our eyes out.”

Aziraphale pulled a face.

“Oh, why does it always come back to violence? Why is this list so obsessed with getting animals killed? We were having such a nice time.”

Crowley pulled a face. “Can you not just… tell them to go away?”

Aziraphale smiled, saccharine sweet. “Why don’t you go over there and try it?”

“Um,” Crowley said, as they rounded a corner and a huge, steaming stretch of marshland appeared in front of them, the stench of it sudden and horrifying. “Pass. Does it say anything else on the scroll?”

“Apparently they live here in great nests, but no hero can get to them because they just sink into the marsh.”

“I do like a good marsh,” Crowley said. “I think we found it.”

“At least that won’t be a problem,” Aziraphale said, with a sigh. Crowley shot him a confused look, and he shrugged. “I don’t sink. It’s an angel thing.”

“How will you explain that to the humans, when they ask how we did it?”

“Oh, I’ll just tell them a god helped me. Maybe Athena, she’s always helping out random heroes, isn’t she?”

Aziraphale took a step out into the muddy waters before Crowley could say anything, and he did indeed not sink, standing on the surface without even making a ripple. With a huff, Crowley turned into his snake form, which was far superior for navigating this kind of landscape, following the angel into the foul-smelling place. There were no trees, just the black and blasted trunks of old, dead ones, and the moss seemed to ooze unpleasantly as they passed it. Crowley wasn’t particularly impressed – his own marsh had been much more impressive.

The birdsong grew louder, but was even stranger in this place, otherworldly and eerie. They came soon to the abandoned nests at the edge of the flock, each as tall as a man, strange and monstrous shapes in the mist, and then finally the birds themselves came into view.

No matter what else might be said about them, they were creatures of great beauty. Their beaks glowed with the warmth of bronze, and their feathers were tipped with gold. Crowley could only imagine how they might appear in the sky, the sunlight glinting off them, their beaks stained red with blood like messengers straight from War herself. They looked like hawks, but much larger, with wide black eyes that stared at them intensely as they came into view.

Aziraphale stepped forward, and offered them all a reassuring smile. “Okay, birds. Shoo! Shoo!”

Had Crowley not been in his snake form, he would have taken an involuntary step backwards – unfortunately, his snake-body didn’t quite move that way. “Angel, you’re going to get yourself discorporated!”

“Shoo!” Aziraphale continued. “Go on, get out of here!”

“Angel!”

One bird stepped forward, bigger than all the rest. The crown of his head was topped with feathers brushed with silver, and it had the regal bearing of a ruler about it. It cocked its head at Aziraphale, and then to their surprise spoke, in a deep and carrying baritone.

“What are you?” the bird asked.

Aziraphale beamed.

“Oh, hello!”

“You are not of mortal stock,” the bird continued, hopping closer. It even managed to make hopping look regal, which was pretty impressive. Crowley would have liked to see a mortal King attempting to carry that off.

“Well, no. Thank you for noticing.”

The bird turned its dark eyes on Crowley. “Neither is your snake. May we eat him?”

“Absolutely not- oh, bugger,” Crowley cursed, switching back to his regular form only to sink up to his thighs in a foul-smelling puddle.

“Please don’t,” Aziraphale told the bird, with a smile. “He’s probably more bones than anything else.”

The bird looked at Crowley for a moment longer, before nodding his head.

“We’ve been sent to get rid of you,” Aziraphale told them. “And kill you, though I don’t want to.”

“You have kindness in you,” the bird-king said, and Aziraphale smiled, reaching out a hand.

“And you are creatures of great beauty.”

“Stop flirting with the birds, Aziraphale!” Crowley huffed, though he had to admit that he was lacking a certain amount of charismatic conviction when stuck in mud.

The birds twittered amongst themselves for a moment, calling from one end of the flock to the other in their own tongue, a song not meant for their ears.

“We were thinking of moving on anyway,” the bird-king said, after a moment. “Pickings grow slim here, and the flock needs sustenance for the winter.”

“I would consider an island,” Aziraphale said. “There is a whole load of uninhabited ones in the Aegean where no people will come and bother you. You could try your hand at fishing, too!”

“We may do as you recommend, spirit-friend. But either way, we shall leave.”

“And I will assure the King that you are dead, so he will not send anyone else after you.”

“Thank you,” the bird told him, and let out a warbling cry that was echoed by the other birds.

“He needs proof that you’re dead!” Crowley cut across quickly. “If he returns with nothing, the King will never believe him!”

The bird-king looked at him carefully. “A member of our flock died yesterday. You may take his body, as proof of your endeavours.”

Aziraphale bowed his head respectfully. “Are you sure? You don’t want to bury them, give him rites?”

“Dead is dead, and bodies return to the earth. It does not matter to us where they lie. His spirit flies with us, and that is all that matters.”

“Thank you, friend,” Aziraphale said, as three birds brought forward a body, wrapped in a scrap of fabric. It was rather too large to carry comfortably, but Aziraphale took it in his arms with great respect nonetheless, and the birds slowly rose into the air as a flock, the slow hush of their flapping wings echoing around them. The movement cleared enough of the low hanging steam to let fragile beams of sunlight through, lighting their wing tips as they rose, off to some distant place, some new world.

“Turns out you did just have to ask them nicely,” Crowley said, as they disappeared from sight. “Not bad, angel. Now get me the hell out of this puddle.”

* * *

“What’s the next one, then?” Crowley asked as they walked away from the city, a rather large bag of gold that they had been given as a reward hanging from his belt. Aziraphale stared at the scroll, frowning.

“It says ‘capture the Cretan bull’,” he said. “Not sure why they are having an issue capturing a bull. Surely it can’t be that hard.”

“You’ve never heard of the Cretan bull?” Crowley asked, incredulous. “Angel, what rock have you been living under? This was the gossip of the century! How could you have missed that?”

Aziraphale huffed. “I’m sure I was busy with something far more cultured than listening to idle gossip,” he said. “I was possibly founding literature, or something.”

“Right, that must be it,” Crowley said. “So, you remember Minos, the King of Crete? He had to prove his right to rule over his other brothers, and so he prayed to Poseidon to send a sign that it was supposed to be him – which the old boy did. He sent a white bull to appear dramatically at some important ceremony or other, to confirm Minos’ succession, with the understanding that the bull would then be sacrificed back to Poseidon, which makes absolutely no sense and just goes to show that Poseidon doesn’t understand people. And has a weird thing about bulls.”

“Get to the point, Crowley.”

“Right, yes. So, Minos decides, obviously, that he likes the fancy sacred bull far too much not to keep it, and sacrifices another one instead, because he’s clearly an idiot who thinks Poseidon won’t notice. Poseidon is, predictably enough, pissed off. So, what he does is he gets Aphrodite to make Minos’ wife, Pasiphaë, fall in love with the bull.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were bulging now, but it was only going to get worse. “Crowley! You’re making this up! There is absolutely no way this is real.”

“It is! So, Minos has some smart craftsman living with him, right? Name of Daedalus. And Pasiphaë, gone out of her mind with love, gets Daedalus to build her a wooden cow that she climbs into so the bull can have its wicked way with her.”

“Oh heavens.”

“Pasiphaë gets pregnant by the bull, ends up giving birth to some monstrous half-man, half-bull kid. They call it the Minotaur, which seems like a bit of a kick in the teeth for Minos. Daedalus has to build it a big labyrinth for the Minotaur to live in, then gets locked up for his troubles. Whole other bunch of stuff happens with them, not really relevant right now. But Poseidon was pretty pissed about not getting his bull and then this woman conspiring to have sex with a sacred animal-”

“Can’t say I blame him!”

“And he passed on his rage to the Cretan Bull, which has been running around destroying things ever since. So, I’m guessing that’s why it’s ended up on the list. Honestly it might be better to put it out of its misery after everything that mad queen put it through.”

“Surely that can’t have happened,” Aziraphale said, still looking scandalised.

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“I was there, angel, and it definitely did. Every bit of it. It was absolutely horrific, and for once, nothing to do with me. Humans might be messed up, but the gods they’ve prayed into existence are even worse.”

It took three weeks to get to Crete, via bartered passage on a series of fishing boats. It actually made a lovely break from the wandering, and in particular from the walking, which Crowley had been getting increasingly bored with.

He enjoyed boats. Well, he liked most things that made life easier, but there was something about boats in particular - he was working on pleasure cruises as a concept, though he suspected it would take a few centuries before Hell quite saw the appeal and merit of them. He had visions of the far future, when technology dominated, and thousands of people willingly crammed themselves into cabins with no windows for holidays where they could go nowhere, just sit around and get drunk and fight with each other for extortionate amounts of money. He suspected it was going to be very successful, if only he lasted that long.

The Aegean was a beautiful place to travel, Crowley was perfectly willing to admit. The warm sun and sparkling waters lulled him to a comfortable doze as much as the gentle rocking of the boat.

“Do you ever wish we could do this kind of thing forever?” Aziraphale asked him, his voice a little sleepy. “Just stop bothering with all the rest?”

“Careful, Aziraphale,” Crowley said back, his voice quiet. “Talk like that can get you into a lot of trouble.”

Aziraphale was looking at him, that small frown creasing his forehead. Crowley wanted to touch it, to press a fingertip between his eyebrows and see if he could smooth it out, but it was hard to do in the bright light of day. Maybe in the quiet darkness of evening, where all is hidden, secret: but here they were exposed, where anyone or anything passing overhead might see them.

“It shouldn’t,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley smiled, just a little.

“Well, maybe one day it won’t,” he said. “But today isn’t that day.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, though he followed with nothing more, as if he had nothing else that could be said out loud. Their shoulders pressed together, a gentle touch, and Crowley turned his face towards the sun, his eyes falling shut.

“I miss the sun the most,” he said, still hushed. “Whenever I have to go downstairs for any length of time. The lighting’s always terrible, which is awful anyway, but there’s no warmth to it. Everything’s always just a little bit cold, unless you go into the torture pit, at which point everything is far too hot.”

“That does sound quite unpleasant,” Aziraphale said, a small smile in his voice, fighting its way to the surface as he learned something new about the demon. “I hope I never have to see it.”

Their arrival into Crete came with little fanfare, which was always Crowley’s preference – all the better for sneaking around and getting the lay of the land before anyone noticed he was there. He had thought that he would need to ask around about the Cretan Bull, about where it was and how best to approach it, giving them the upper-hand when they came to tracking it down. But this time he didn’t need to get any information.

“Well, where do you think we‘ll find this bull, then?” Crowley asked, his voice deeply laced with sarcasm as he stared at the broken fences and followed the line of destruction up from the edge of the small port, through the countryside, and into the distance. There were crowds of people standing around the fence, occasionally glancing across the fields as if nervous that the bull would suddenly reappear. “Right, go back about your business everyone. Nothing to see here.”

“Who are you them?” an old woman with a face like a wrinkled peanut was glaring up at Crowley. Her eyes glittered with the kind of personal affront that only the elderly could manage to acquire. There was power in it, the kind of power that could topple empires if only it was directed down the right path of history. Crowley loved people like this, in normal situations – these were the people easiest to twist and shape. But right now was not a normal situation.

“Me?” he replied. “Well, I’m just your friendly, quick-witted side-kick. Who you should really be talking to is him.”

He pointed at Aziraphale, who blinked rather owlishly as the eyes of the crowd all swivelled onto him.

“This is a hero, sent from Delphi to save you all from this terrible plight. We are going to save you all, in a very… heroic sort of way. Or he will. Whatever. But before we go I think we could both do with a spot of food, a few bottles of wine, on the house because I’m sure you’re all very grateful-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “Goodness. We’re not going to take food from them now!”

Crowley sagged. He had thought it was rather a good idea. Aziraphale smiled gently at the crowd around them. “We’ll go fix things with the bull, and then we’ll eat when we get back. And we’ll pay!”

The promise of payment seemed enough to motivate the crowd into returning to their business, and they set off down the route, following the deep prints and detritus that the mad creature had left behind. It took a while, but eventually they came across it.

“Well, it is pretty beautiful,” Crowley admitted, as the glowing white bull came into view. There was certainly something ethereal about it, particularly when it turned to look at them, and they could see the red light of madness in its eyes, the crackling glow of power in its horns, the energy that hovered around it, showing it had been touched by the hand of a god.

“Oh, that’s mean,” Aziraphale said. “That’s just a mean thing to do to an animal. Come here, darling.”

The bull began to advance on them. Crowley couldn’t help but think that was a bad idea, particularly because it kept huffing its anger. This sort of thing had worked out just fine with the birds, but the angel did have a problem with pushing his luck.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, reaching out for the bull, which immediately quietened as the angel got closer. “I don’t think we need to capture you at all, do we? Or kill you. You’re a lovely thing, you just need to… calm down a little.”

The angel took a deep breath, slowly, then exhaled heavily. As he did, the jittering energy around the bull seemed to drop away, leaving the creature still, and calm. The strange glow around its horns slowly faded, as did the red colour in its eyes, leaving a soft brown behind. 

“There you are, my dear,” the angel said. “Just a normal cow now. Off you go.”

He patted its flank, and off it wandered, into the sun-lit countryside.

“I still think we’re cheating,” Crowley said, as the bull disappeared into the distance.

“I’m just going to blame you,” Aziraphale told him. “You’re good for that kind of thing. Now hurry up – we have dinner waiting for us back at the village.”

* * *

“I don’t like the look of these horses, Aziraphale.”

“Why does the King want them, anyway?”

Crowley shrugged. “Magical horses. Why wouldn’t you want them?”

Aziraphale pulled a face. “Have you seen them?”

There were four horses in front of them across the sacred field, each of them easily twice the height of a normal horse. They were beautiful, but they were also breathing steam and, as a rather large ring of singed grass around them indicated, getting closer was clearly not a good idea.

“Who wants horses that breathe fire?” Aziraphale continued. “It just doesn’t seem practical in the long term.”

“We should have got some more people,” Crowley said, looking around them. “At least two men per horse. And several more to swap out when the others get crisped.”

“Is horse fire enough to discorporate us, do you think?” Aziraphale mused. “Would it count as hellfire?”

“I mean, they’re not demons.”

“They look pretty demonic to me.”

The two of them stared a moment at the four horses again. Their muscles rippled beneath their skin, bulging strength. One of them snorted, setting fire to a patch of daisies.

“Who on earth feeds horses human flesh? No wonder they are a bit… off. Why would this Diomedes chap even start? In what possible context did this Diomedes chap sit down and think, hmm, you know what might improve the nutritional levels of these horses? A person.”

“You calmed down the bull, can’t you do your angel mojo and make them a bit more reasonable?”

“I’m not sure it’ll help in this case. It’s the human flesh they’re getting fed, and the intent to turn them into something like this that matters. There’s no coming back from that sort of thing after a while.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do then?”

“That’s an excellent question, my dear.”

Crowley stared for a moment, and then sighed. “Right, hang on.”

He reached into the indeterminate dimensions, searching for the correct pocket of non-space – he knew he had popped these somewhere a century or so ago, thinking they would come in handy one day. If only he could find them… ah, there they were. From his sleeve he drew a long chain, which Aziraphale eyed cautiously.

“I’m not sure I’m allowed to touch demonic artefacts,” he said, uncertainly, but Crowley shook his head.

“Not demonic, just a bit wonky. Won this in an interdimensional poker game a while back. It extends to fit around things of any size and sends them to sleep. It can be quite useful, although admittedly only in very particular situations where I am trying to capture and send things to sleep. Which doesn’t happen as often as you’d think.”

“You do surprise me,” Aziraphale remarked dryly.

Ten minutes later half of Crowley’s hair had been singed off but there were four sleeping giant horses lying on the ground between them, snoring away happily and still occasionally puffing smoke.

They stared at each other across the bodies.

“How are we getting these back?”

* * *

“If I never see a horse again, it’ll be too soon,” Crowley groaned, stretching out on the ground. “I can’t believe you made me drag them that far.”

“You levitated them onto a cart and then borrowed a farmer’s oxen to pull them,” Aziraphale replied, dryly. “You weren’t exactly carrying them with your bare hands, darling.”

“The point is, I am an amazing friend and you’re lucky to have me.” Crowley was busy feeding their campfire, the two of them settling in for the evening.

“We’re not friends,” Aziraphale replied, automatically. Crowley looked away, and there was a sudden air of awkwardness between them.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, feeling a little uncomfortable and pretty certain he had just said something that wasn’t strictly true. “Anyway, do you know, we’ve managed eight out of twelve labours now? And we haven’t even run into a god yet. I’m starting to think we might actually get through this. I might manage to get rid of this curse before anyone Upstairs even notices. Wouldn’t that be excellent? I have a feeling they would recall me to desk duty if they found out.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“I don’t know, you probably would. It would get rid of your hereditary enemy once and for all, wouldn’t it? You would be able to do your terrible evil deeds without any interference.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Right, because you do such a terrific job of stopping me now.”

Aziraphale huffed, sitting in front of the campfire. He jabbed at the logs with a stick, sending a plume of sparks into the night sky.

“Hush you, I do a very good job.”

A beat of silence, and then Crowley rolled over from his side onto his back, so Aziraphale could no longer properly see his face.

“I wouldn’t want you to go,” Crowley said, quietly. “It’d be very dull without you.”

Aziraphale could feel the heat of a blush on his cheeks, and he paused for a moment, the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of an owl hooting as it took wing the only noise.

“Would you like me to sort out your hair?” he asked.

Crowley turned his head to look at him, as if searching for a trap, his eyes raking over Aziraphale’s expression. He seemed to find what he was looking for though, because he nodded, sat up, and inched around the fire until he was sat next to Aziraphale, facing away so the angel could see the back of his hair.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley’s hair had been quite badly singed by the breath of the horses. On one side of his head, half of his hair was burnt short, and the edges were dark and coarse to the touch, still smelling slightly of fire. Other patches were left uneven, and there was one part, at the back of his head, where Aziraphale could see his scalp, pink and raw. Crowley’s hair was quite lovely, he had to admit: there was something about it that made it look soft even now when it was worse for wear, like it would give a great tactile pleasure to touch.

He never had before.

Aziraphale focused his thoughts, and skimmed his fingers over the shortest patch, willing it to grow. As it did, he used his knife to trim off the burnt ends, curling it around his fingers as he waited a little longer for it to match the length of the rest. Once done, he extracted his fingers, pulling gently, and Crowley made a low sound of approval.

Aziraphale hesitated, before combing his fingertips through his hair again. Then he took another charred chunk of hair and did the same.

He worked slowly in the firelight, careful with his knife, his gently stroking Crowley’s hair as he went. They did not say anything: words would have made it strange, too awkward, would have brought to light more than either of them currently felt able to acknowledge. Once all the hair was grown back, he kept running his fingers through it, slowly and gently.

It was just as soft as he had imagined.

“Do you mean it?” he asked, very quietly. “That you wouldn’t want me to go?”

Crowley didn’t say anything for what felt like a very long time. A creature rustled in the undergrowth nearby, going about its nightly routine.

“Of course I mean it,” Crowley said, in the end. “You’re not paying attention if you think I don’t. You’re the one who says we’re not friends, that you don’t care. And you don’t speak for me, not as much as you might think you do.”

Aziraphale did not know what to say to that. He knew what he was supposed to say, but that wasn’t the same thing, not at all. A spark from the fire landed on his arm, and he watched it glow for a moment. It didn’t hurt, he couldn’t even feel it, but he didn’t know if that was just because it wasn’t hot enough, or if it was because he was not created to feel pain. He was a construct of Her, a creature of Her meanings and intentions, and the thought of it made him ache with longing for the type of life he was not allowed to have.

“I am sorry,” he said, and it didn’t feel like enough.

“I forgive you,” Crowley said. “Even though it’s not supposed to be in my nature to forgive.”

“I think the beauty of you,” Aziraphale said, softly, “is that you go against everything you’re supposed to be, that you have created yourself in the image that you want, isolated and solitary and beautiful in yourself. A mountain of soul, a lone peak of person. You should never think of yourself as less, Crowley. And know that I never think of you as being anything less, either, no matter what you are and what I am and everything the divine plan tells us we’re supposed to be.”

It was the most he had ever said about it out loud, more than he had ever admitted to himself, actually, even in his most honest moments. He knew he should regret it, should never have said it in the first place, but despite himself he could not.

“I’m not alone right now,” Crowley said, and he reached behind him, his hand finding Aziraphale’s, still tangled in long red hair.

“No, you’re not.”

The night drew on around them, quiet and hushed. They were entirely alone, cut off from their respective sides, with just the firelight and the gentle sounds of the animals of the night moving around them, paying them no attention or mind. They were not human, they did not belong on this earth, but in that moment they might have done: this might have been a place created just for them. He often wished that there was a place for them both that made sense, that Creation could shift in such a way as to leave them both cast off, adrift from everything they knew and everything that they were supposed to be: away from the ideal forms of themselves that neither of them wanted. Aziraphale felt a longing, from somewhere deep and primal inside himself, that all of time could be like this, that this was all there ever was. No rules, no divides, nothing to stop him doing what he wanted.

But that was not the world they lived it: there were hierarchies and laws and the order of things that must be obeyed, the threat of hellfire and holy water never to be forgotten. Around them the night grew darker, the air cooling, the distant sound of a faint breeze stirring the land.

“I care about you too,” Aziraphale said, so quiet that he wasn’t sure himself whether he had dared to say it out loud.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oooh, this one’s a bit racy,” Crowley said, squinting at the scroll.

The two of them had both risen as sun had crept above the horizon, both of them fighting against the lingering sense of awkwardness from the night before. Crowley had whipped out the scroll almost immediately, keen to have something else to do and something to distract them both with.

“Oh dear.”

“Apparently we need to find the Amazons,” he continued as Aziraphale winced. “And their Queen, Hipolyta. And then we need to steal her girdle. I don’t even know what a girdle is, but I suspect I’m not going to enjoy it.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “It’s a belt or rope worn tied around the waist,” he said.

Crowley blinked. “I assumed it was some sort of underwear.”

“Of course you did. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Why the hell does someone want her belt?” Crowley said, pulling a face. “I thought the man-eating, fire-breathing horses made no sense, but that was nothing. Can’t they just go down to the market, buy a belt of their own? Or, you know, steal a curtain tie? It seems like there are far better ways to go about getting your belt than stealing one from some legendary warrior queen who is probably far more likely to rip your head off than lend you a fashion accessory.”

“That is a common misconception about Amazons,” Aziraphale said, primly. “You will find that all those who describe the Amazons as brutal and focused on war are men: too intimidated by their excellence and prowess to do anything but criticise them in a pitiful attempt to make themselves feel better.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Personal investment, then?” he asked.

Aziraphale sniffed. “If you must know, I spent several years living amongst them. They are a beautiful and cultured people. There is almost no crime, and they produce literature, art and music far superior to that being made across the rest of Greece.”

“And do they go to war?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I mean, yes. Quite a lot, actually. They are very capable and take great delight in destroying their enemies. But that shouldn’t detract from the beauty of their culture, Crowley.”

“Certainly not,” the demon agreed. “I’m looking forward to this already.”

“Female forms might be better for this though,” Aziraphale admitted. “They do have a habit of shooting approaching men with arrows.”

“Now you’re talking,” Crowley said, shimmying a little, the lines of his body shifting in that disconcerting way that the human eye would never have been able to see. After a moment, his female form stood in front of Aziraphale, grinning. “Your turn.”

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley managed to make shifting look so easy– he was so much more used to doing it, the angel supposed. Aziraphale though was rather set in his ways, and he liked this form: it attracted so much less attention when he was travelling. Long live equality, whenever that would come about. But they were close to the borders of Amazonian territory, and there was no point being stubborn about it – being discorporated by an arrow to the chest would be quite an inconvenient addition to the trip.

Crowley was watching him appreciatively, and when the unpleasant sensation of shifting abated, Aziraphale looked down at her body. Her female shape was warm, and soft, full of curves– it had been too long since she had worn this body, and she had forgotten how much she liked it.

“Come on then darling,” Crowley purred. “Girdles are calling.”

There were huge walls surrounding the Amazon territory, charmed with the magic of their ancestors so no man could climb them. There were gates guarded by garrisons of soldiers, and Aziraphale felt a certain level of trepidation as she approached them.

“Halt!” came the call as they drew close. “Who comes here, and for what end?”

“Hullo,” Aziraphale said, fluttering her fingers in an awkward wave. “Two women, on a sacred quest, which we must consult your beloved Queen about. Terribly important, can’t possibly explain here, I’m sure you understand.”

A helmeted head appeared from over the top of the gate. Aziraphale couldn’t quite make out her expression from here, but she expected it to be bewildered.

“We get a lot of people here on quests,” the Amazon said. “If you’re another one out to steal our Queen’s clothes, you’ve got another thing coming. It’s absolutely ridiculous, just go buy your own!”

“That’s what I said!” Crowley called back. “Honestly, these heroes have no respect for property.”

“We’re not going to steal anything,” Aziraphale said, trying for reassuring.

“We’re not?” Crowley whispered, looking astonished.

“Absolutely not.” Aziraphale whispered back, before raising her voice to the guard again. “Perhaps you could go and tell your Queen that Aziraphale is here at the gates, and would very much like to talk to her if she can spare the time.”

The guard was still watching them with some disbelief. “And why should we do that?”

From within her robes, Aziraphale withdrew a large gold disk, stamped with a distinctive pattern and the head of a lioness. The guard’s body language changed immediately at the sight of this, and when she withdrew, they could hear her barking orders.

“What on earth is that?” Crowley asked, wide-eyed. “And how much is it _worth_?”

“You can’t have it,” Aziraphale told her. “And don’t you dare try to steal it. It is the sacred sign of the Amazon royal family, given to those who have done a great service to the people.”

“And how did you get one?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Nothing too impressive. Couple of minor miracles, invented a new musical instrument. I was very popular here, I’ll have you know.”

“Clearly,” Crowley replied, as the gates creaked open and a line of guards ushered them through. “It might have been easier if you’d showed that at the beginning, though.”

The Amazons treated them with a huge amount of respect, offering them food and wine before leading them away from the walls and into a chariot. They were taken through lush and beautiful countryside: orchards and sheep folds and crops stretching away into the distance. No one in the Kingdom of the Amazons went hungry, and it was clear to see why – there was more than enough to go around. Soon enough a city appeared on the horizon, and as they got closer Aziraphale enjoyed watching Crowley’s eyes grow wider and wider at the sight of it. The city was huge and beautiful, with fountains on every corner and golden statues of prominent women scattered throughout. The buildings were tall and fair, with bronze doors and tangled vines growing up them, heavy with their burden of fruit or flowers. In the centre of the city was a hill upon which all the temples were clustered, and at its foot was the palace. Whilst beautiful and large, it was very similar to the rest of the buildings in the city, and nothing at all like the palaces of the other places they had been, which clearly outstripped even the most ostentatious of buildings. Here was the seat of a royal family dedicated to promoting its people, not itself.

“Is everyone and everything here ridiculously beautiful, or is it just me?” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale laughed.

“It does feel like it, doesn’t it?”

“It’s going to give me a complex if I stay too long,” the demon said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Aziraphale gave her a reassuring pat.

“You’re still stunning my dear, no need to look so hard for compliments.”

They were led through the palace into quite a reasonably-sized reception room, where they were asked to wait and offered more food and wine, and comfortable seating. They weren’t waiting long, however, before they heard the sound of approaching feet, and a tall and beautiful woman burst in. Her skin was the colour of the rich earth, her hair a tumbling wave of black, and on her proud and fine-featured head sat a crown of delicate gold.

“Aunty Aziraphale, is that you? My goodness, you haven’t aged a day since last I saw you!”

Aziraphale smiled. “My darling girl, look how you have grown!”

“Tell me, who is your beautiful friend?”

Crowley preened. “I’m Crowley,” she said, smiling with enough of a hint of flirtation that Aziraphale wanted to bash her around the back of the head. “An absolute pleasure, darling.”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay long,” Aziraphale said, regretfully. “Would that I could. But I’ve been cursed by a god and sent to achieve a serious of sacred tasks in order to release myself from it. My friend here is helping me along the way.”

Hippolyta groaned. “You’re after the belt, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale smiled apologetically. “I take it this isn’t the first request you’ve had for it?”

“I swear, the priests at that bloody temple are absolute perverts. Every year it’s another item of clothing. Eventually it’ll get down to my underwear. Roll up, roll up, come see the legendary Queen’s knickers.”

Crowley snorted.

“It is ridiculous,” Hippolyta said, but she must have seen Aziraphale’s downcast expression. “Obviously I’ll give _you_ one of my belts, Aunty. I have hundreds – gods know why they are so excited at the prospect of them. But I do it on one condition.”

Aziraphale winced. “What is it?”

Hippolyta beamed. “You have to stay for a few days, of course! We will feast in your honour, throw athletic and poetry competitions to celebrate your return, and fill you so full of wine that you can’t walk straight for a week. What do you say?”

Crowley nudged him. “I feel like it would be deeply disrespectful of the wonderful Amazon culture to turn down that invitation, wouldn’t it Aziraphale?”

“Oh well,” she said, smiling too. “I suppose we simply must accept!”

* * *

“You know, stealing things doesn’t seem very heroic. Slay the mythical beast that guards them, sure. But this doesn’t really strike me as saving anyone. We’re just taking things. I mean sure, there’s no such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism, but this seems extreme.”

Aziraphale, patted his arm comfortingly. “If the priests think that this is a worthy task for a hero, then there has to be more to it than we understand.”

Crowley scowled. “I don’t know if I believe that.”

It had taken them an unpleasantly long time to get from the Amazonian Kingdom to the lands owned by the monstrous Geryon, whose cattle were of legendary beauty and size. The task – to steal the herd and deliver it to another king in the south – had very little further explanation, unlike all the others. They had been debating it back and forward as they travelled, and Crowley still wasn’t convinced. But then again, he was the poster child for doubt and for questioning orders, so perhaps he was approaching this from the wrong angle.

They reached the borders of Geryon’s lands, and moved quietly through the fields. Soon enough they heard the sounds of cattle, and as they crested a small hill they ducked behind a tree as they caught sight of a figure.

“What the hell is that?”

In front of them stood a creature unlike anything they’d seen before. It towered over them, with three heads protruding from its body, one looking in each direction. On its back were an enormous pair of spiked wings, and at his side was an enormous battle-axe and three great spears were stuck into the earth, just waiting to be used. Crowley had no doubt that the creature had terrific aim. What were the chances of it not, when Aziraphale and Crowley were around?

“What’s that thing doing running a dairy farm, that’s what I want to know,” Crowley muttered under his breath.

“There is a dog too,” Aziraphale noted absently, gesturing at the two-headed beast that sat quiet and attentive beside the creature. “It’s quite lovely looking, isn’t it?”

“Angel, it has two heads.”

“Well, that just makes him twice as sweet.”

Crowley stared at him incredulously. The dog was huge, and both heads had enormous teeth and were drooling all over the place. Only an angel would have looked at it and seen anything remotely appealing.

“How are we doing this?” Crowley asked, instead of pushing Aziraphale on the dog front. “Waiting until he wanders off somewhere, shuffle a few cows away, leg it as soon as we can?”

“I think we might have to be a bit more proactive than that,” Aziraphale whispered, closing his eyes. There was a sudden faint shifting around the edges of his form, an indistinct glow without any light. Crowley watched him – an angel using his grace was a rare thing to see, and it pulled a little at his chest. He had once been able to do things like this and, though he now had different powers, it was strange to think on what had once been.

In front of them, Geryon swayed a little, before rubbing at his eyes. He said something indistinct to his dog, before sitting down on the ground. The dog also looked a little worse for wear, yawning wide and settling down at Geryon’s side. In the space of just a few moments, both were fast asleep on the floor, and the two crept out from behind the tree. It was quick enough work rounding up a few of the docile cows and ushering them away, out of Geryon’s lands.

“I quite like herding cows, don’t you? I see the appeal. Maybe I should become a farmer after I’ve finished off these labours.” Aziraphale smiled, pleased with himself, and Crowley rolled his eyes fondly.

“I suspect there is quite a bit more physical labour involved than you would enjoy.”

But their good humour was not to last. It only took a few minutes more of walking before Aziraphale started to frown, and Crowley began to worry.

“I like these cows a lot more than the last one,” Crowley said, trying to ease the tension, patting one of them on the head. “They’re a lot more friendly.”

But Aziraphale did not reply. He was frowning, staring at the cows, looking vaguely ashamed. He had gone quite pale.

“I don’t think I should be stealing, should I? I’m pretty sure angels aren’t supposed to steal.”

“You’re only thinking of this now?” Crowley said, blinking. “After days of me asking whether we should steal them?”

Aziraphale flapped a hand at him. “But normally we’re at moral cross-purposes, dear. it has only just occurred to me that you might actually have been right all along.”

“Wash out your mouth,” Crowley snapped.

They had both stopped by this point, and the cattle were milling, confused by the lack of direction.

“We have to take them back,” Aziraphale said.

“We can’t bloody well take them back!”

A roar echoed around them, startling them both into silence. There was a strange sound above them, but before either of them could work out that what they were hearing was enormous wing-beats Geryon had landed in front of them, the landscape echoing with another roar.

“Oh, bugger.”

“You couldn’t have kept him asleep a little longer?” Crowley yelled, jumping back.

“I was upset!” Aziraphale protested. “It’s not my fault! I can’t pay attention to that many things at once!”

“ _That_ many things? Your guilt, five cows, me and a sleeping dairy farmer!”

Geryon, who had been enraged when he landed, was now staring between the two of them. “Excuse me-”

“Well, I’m so sorry I can’t meet your ridiculous standards!”

“I’m being completely bloody reasonable, angel! And it’s all well and good you having a moral crisis now, but I told you three days ago we shouldn’t steal the damn cows!”

“Excuse me!”

The angel and demon paused, and looked back at Geryon, who was now standing with his arms folded.

“You might remember me, you just stole my cows. And I’ve been told I’m quite memorable.”

Aziraphale rubbed the back of his head. “Terribly sorry about that. If it makes you feel any better, I was just saying that we should bring them back.”

“And I was saying we never should have taken them in the first place!”

“Then why did you?”

The two looked at each other, and then with a sigh Aziraphale pulled the scroll out, and passed it over. Geryon, rather incongruously, pulled a small pair of reading glasses out of a pocket (monsters have always had better healthcare than humans).

“Only this head has bad eyesight,” he said, tapping his right forehead, when Aziraphale and Crowley stared at him with confusion. He scanned the list, and exhaled a huge sigh.

“Look, I appreciate that you want my cattle, they are excellent specimens. But what you fail to understand is the amount of effort, time and money I’ve put into rearing this herd. It’s my life’s work. And I don’t understand why people keep trying to take them. Sure, I’m a monster, but I’m just trying to contribute to society and make a place for myself. Is that any reason to target me?”

“You’re quite right,” Aziraphale said. “This whole process just seems to undermine the effort of the common working man. Or monster, whatever terminology you prefer. I’m literally stealing from the poor to give to the rich – kings don’t need more of anything.”

Crowley made a rather feral noise of frustration. “Angel, I understand your desire to create a morally justifiable system here, but might I remind you that you’re under a curse? If you don’t bring the king the cattle of Geryon, then you don’t get out of it!”

“You didn’t want me to steal them in the first place!”

“Of course I didn’t! But at the end of the day, we have to turn up with some bloody cows!”

“Well then, I’ll pay for some,” Aziraphale said, resolutely. “We’ve earned a lot of money in thanks, haven’t we? I know you’ve been carrying it all, but time to get it out. Let’s see how many cattle we can purchase at a fair market rate from this good chap, and just lie to the king and say we stole it.”

“I’m not sure whether to be pleased or annoyed,” Crowley replied. “But either way I think I’m impressed.”

“You two are very strange,” Geryon told them. “But I have to appreciate your concerns about ethical consumerism. And for not killing me before taking my cattle, that was very good of you. I’m sure the gods will smile on you for this.”

“Think nothing of it! I care about protecting the innocent, and I am _very_ pious.” Aziraphale said. It wasn’t technically a lie – people didn’t need to know that he was operating on an entirely different religious system. It wasn’t worth the confusing explanation it would require.

It took some time to work out a fair price, mostly because Aziraphale kept trying to offer far more than he should. In the end though, they parted ways with Geryon on excellent terms, Aziraphale got to play with the two-headed dog for a while, and several days later they turned up at another palace with a few cattle, and got to tick another task of their list.

Geryon spent his excess of profit on several new spears, a talon-sharpening, and two bones for his dog (one per head).

* * *

“This next one is absolute nonsense,” Crowley grumbled. “This place doesn’t even exist.”

Aziraphale sighed as he watched Crowley squint down at the scroll. “Where is it?”

“The Gardens of the Hesperides.”

“Oh no, that place is real.”

“It definitely isn’t.”

“Just because you’ve not heard of something, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, crossing his arms and attempting to frown at the demon. Unfortunately, he wasn’t of the angelic class particularly known for frowning.

“It might as well do,” Crowley replied, grumpily. “Alright, how do we get there?”

Aziraphale waved vaguely at the distant horizon. “It’s in the west.”

Crowley stared at him. “So are a lot of things, angel.”

“I’ll know how to get there when I get close.”

“Given that you get lost in anything bigger than a hamlet, I am not entirely reassured.”

“Hush, you old snake,” Aziraphale said, flapping at him. “What do we have to do when we get there?”

There was a long pause, long enough to make Aziraphale concerned. Right before he asked Crowley what was wrong, the demon glanced up at him. “We have to steal an apple.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“We have to go to a magical garden and take an apple that we shouldn’t?” Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale sighed. “This sounds like a terrible mistake. Or some sort of horrible farce at our own expense.”

“We’ve had enough bad experiences with important apples from magical gardens, angel!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Oh hell, if I have to tempt anyone again then I’m doing it in a bikini. I know it hasn’t been invented yet but I’m doing it anyway. I want the story to be more interesting next time. I’m barely talked about.”

“The Bible hasn’t even been written yet, Crowley.”

“What, and you think they’re going to put me in a bikini when it is?”

Aziraphale rubbed at his forehead in frustration.

“Look, this garden is quite a long way away, so just- oh, hold on.” He grabbed hold of Crowley’s arm, and with a quick burst of angelic power, shifted them across the planet. It was always a little uncomfortable dragging someone else along for the ride, and he had to pray to Her that none of the administrative angels noticed that the extra weight belonged to someone from the opposition, but he could not be bloody bothered hiking all the way across Europe just for one task. Why was everything around Greece apart from this one, anyway?

He blinked, recalibrating to the brighter sky and the higher altitude. Crowley was looking around them with some curiosity.

“So, when you said the far west, what you actually meant was the Atlas mountains?”

“Well, it’s pretty far west,” Aziraphale said, looking around them.

“Angel, you’ve _been_ to the Americas. And you are conceptually aware that the earth is a globe and therefore constructs of ‘far west’ make NO sense _because you just keep going in circles._ ”

“Yes, but the _Greeks_ think it’s the edge of the world.”

“I’m not a Greek, Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted. “And neither are bloody you, no matter how much you like their poetry!”

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale told him. “You’ll cause an avalanche. And look over there – I think those are the gates to the gardens. I told you I could get us there.”

Crowley continued to grumble as they walked across the rugged terrain to the gates. The sound of their footsteps was probably louder than it should have been: everything else in the area was completely silent in that strange way that only mountain tops ever are, so far away from everything.

“Do you know that these apples are supposed to be the source of the glowing, golden light of sunset?” Aziraphale asked, conversationally, cutting straight over Crowley’s complaining.

“It sounds like you’ve swallowed an encyclopaedia.”

They went through the gate with no fuss or bother, the bleak mountainsides transforming immediately into a spacious, overgrown garden that made no sense in the context of any geographical climate, plants growing next to each other that no place belonging together. It reminded Crowley of Eden in that regard, in a way that made him feel a hot curl of discomfort in his belly. He picked up his pace, abruptly wanting to this to be over and done with.

They paused, having reached the centre of the garden. There was a huge tree growing there, the kind of thing that you look at immediately and go, _‘well this ain’t right, is it?_ ’. It seemed to glow, albeit in a godly, rather than radioactive, way and its boughs were laden with beautiful, golden apples. Wrapped around its trunk was an enormous, hundred-headed dragon. It took Aziraphale a moment to realise what he was looking at, for the logic of it was so difficult to process.

“That’s a big serpent,” Crowley remarked. Its scale were a dull green, and faint wisps of steam came from the nostrils of a hundred heads, rapidly dissipating in the cool mountain air.

Aziraphale bit his lip. “You’re a snake, why don’t you scare it off?”

“Umm…”.

Aziraphale hid his smile. “Oh, what, the Lernaean Hydra isn’t big and bad enough to chase off a simple hundred-headed dragon?”

“I don’t have to be here, you know!” Crowley retorted, crossing his arms.

Aziraphale reached over and chucked his chin.

“Well, I do appreciate it, but if you have any better ideas I am all ears.”

“Um.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then back at the tree and the dragon. A bunch of women in unnecessarily see-through gauzy bits of fabric had appeared out of nowhere, and were dancing around the tree, though to what end they couldn’t quite work out. Aziraphale sighed, and stepped forward.

“Hello, dear nymphs!”

One nymph dressed in green shrieked, and tried to hide behind the others, but one of the others, wrapped up in sky-blue crossed her arms. “Worry not, sisters, I don’t think he’s interested in the likes of us.”

“What, nymphs?”

The nymph in blue grinned. “No, women.”

Aziraphale offered another beaming smile.

Another nymph, this one in pink, stepped forward. “What do you want, handsome?”

Aziraphale looked as if he was about to start blathering, and so Crowley stepped forward, offering his hands palm outwards in a sign of peace. “Don’t suppose we could trouble you for an apple?”

The nymphs looked at each other. “What do we get in return?”

“Look,” Crowley said, with a sigh. “It’s been a very long trip. What do you want? It might go more quickly if we start with that.”

They stared at each other. The hundred-headed dragon looked up at them curiously, and then rested its many heads back on the ground. It was clearly quite tiring to hold them all up at once – although now Crowley was closer he was a bit sceptical about the hundred-heads thing. Looked more like fifty, at a push. At least no one had asked him his relation to this one yet.

“I don’t know?” one young looking one in pale yellow said, glancing around her compatriots. “What do we want?”

The mythical women appeared completely bewildered now. “Why are we stopping people taking these anyway?”

“What? You don’t know why you’re protecting them?” Crowley asked, and they shrugged.

“No, not really.”

“You see, this is why we should unionise,” the one in blue said. “No one has ever actually explained the parameters of the job to us. We were due at least a three-week training period, did anyone ever get that?”

There were a choruses of ‘no’s from around the group.

“And I’m sick of wearing skimpy clothes!” another announced. “Why can’t we get some sturdy trousers and boots? We live on top of a mountain, I deserve mountaineering equipment!”

"I'm not sure we were even given names," one rather glum-looking one added. "I think we're narratively interchangeable, and nameless until a god decides to pay attention to us. How unfair is that?"

“I fully agree,” Crowley purred. “And I think you should get in touch with your divine rep at once. They’ll be able to tell you what to do. But in the meantime, do you think we could just grab an apple, be on our way…?”

None of them seemed to be particularly bothered, so he reached carefully over the dragon, grabbing an apple in each hand. .

“We only needed one,” Aziraphale said, as they made their way out of the garden and back towards the barren mountaintop beyond. Crowley passed him an apple to tuck safely away. “What’s the other one for?”

Crowley took a huge, crunching bite out of it, grinning as he did so.

“Never got to taste the last one,” he said, around a mouthful of apple. “Figured I should try a bit of forbidden fruit once in my life, angel.”

Aziraphale looked at him, aghast. Crowley held the apple out to him anyway. “Fancy a bite?”

The angel swallowed and shot a nervous glance at the sky.

“Oh, alright then,” he mumbled. “I suppose one bite can’t hurt.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Alright, last one,” Crowley said, rubbing his hands together. “Does it feel like we’ve been doing this for years, or is it just me?”

“Definitely not you,” Aziraphale replied with a wry smile. “I for one will be very glad when this is all over and done with.”

His voice caught a little on the end, right as he shot a look at Crowley, who had glanced up from his study of the scroll and was watching him with a strange and careful look. After a moment, the demon turned back to the list in front of him, his finger carefully trailing down the lines until he reached the last one.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.”

Aziraphale winced. Crowley’s tone was not light-hearted. Whatever was on the list was clearly bad – possibly even the worst one yet.

“Tell me.”

“We need to go and fetch some dog from the Underworld.”

Aziraphale bit his lower lip, working it between his teeth. “From Hell?”

“No, that would be easier. If it was just a standard issue hellhound I could requisition one easily enough, the paperwork is a bit of a pain but I have a stamp-”

“From where then?” Aziraphale interrupted, twisting the fabric of his creased tunic between his fingers.

“From their Underworld,” Crowley said, waving at the air distractedly. “The humans. These humans – the Greek Underworld. Hades.”

“I thought that was the name of one of their gods?”

“Oh, it’s the god and the place at the same time. They’re a confused lot.”

“Well that doesn’t make a lick of sense. Are you sure?”

Crowley tapped his nose. “I’m a demon, love. It’s my job to know about these things.”

“Why?”

Crowley stared at him. Clearly no one had ever actually asked him that before.

“Underworld-y stuff, it’s demonic, isn’t it? It’s covered in one of our cultural induction packages… Look, I don’t know, and it’s beside the point. We have to go there. That’s really all there is to it.”

“You have cultural induction packages?”

“Sure. Which god is who, what social faux-pas to avoid, which civilisation is most likely to eat you – trust me, it isn’t any of the ones you’d expect – you know. Useful stuff, makes it easier to tempt people if you know what they actually want. Hell is good with paperwork.”

Aziraphale shook his head. It made complete sense but he certainly wasn’t going to admit that – it was one step too close to blasphemy for him. Angels of the Lord were _not_ supposed to approve of Hellish bureaucracy.

“So,” he said instead, “We have to find a way down there, steal a dog, and give it to a king? This seems so _unnecessary_. And what does he want with this poor dog anyway?

“I don’t know, all of this has seemed a bit beside the point, hasn’t it? Almost like these tasks are just here to enable another narrative that we’re not aware of, but that just seems far-fetched,” Crowley muttered, peering at the scroll again. “Oh no, hang on a minute – this king doesn’t actually want the dog. He just wants to see it. Apparently we have to take it back afterwards or it doesn’t count.”

“Right, go get the mythical monster, bring it to the king, let him have a look, then pop it back downstairs again. Easy enough,” Aziraphale said, distinctly uneasy.

“You know, this is the kind of thing that makes me want to murder everyone I have ever met.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“Absolutely not.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “At least the dog gets a nice walk out in the sunshine. I don’t suppose it gets much fresh air down in this Underworld place.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be the kind of dog you like,” said Crowley, thinking of the small, yappy animals that trailed after the angel in every city they visited, as though they sensed his endless patience and tendency to slip them scraps. The fondness he had shown for Geryon’s monstrous dog had been... unexpected. As a rule, Aziraphale did not particularly like animals. Of course, he’d never admitted it- they were God’s creations, after all, and Aziraphale’s to Love- but this was exactly the sort of thing you couldn’t keep from Crowley. Dogs were, it seemed, the exception.

“Why?”

“Well,” Crowley began, looking back to the scroll. “It says here it has three heads, and a snake-tail – that doesn’t seem hygienic does it? Poor snake. It guards the gates of the Underworld – bit weird that, there’s a lot of gates. And it’s the monstrous child of Typhon – bloody hell, there I am again. This definitely isn’t my child either, angel. I want to make it clear right now that I’ve never begotten _anything_ , and if I had I wouldn’t have left it down in an Underworld.”

“I believe you,” Aziraphale said comfortingly, patting his arm. “You’d at least make sure it had a nice penthouse apartment somewhere.” Reality shivered a little at that, given that the concept of penthouses didn’t exist yet, but the angel refused to notice. “How do we get there?”

Crowley rolled up the scroll decisively. “Well, it’s a bit of a faff. Either it’s at the far ends of the ocean or deep below the bounds of the earth- depending on who you listen to. Of course, it’s not really either, but you can’t expect humans to grasp the idea of non-corporeal realities and trans-dimensional space. You need to find one of the secret entrances, either by stumbling on it or by getting a psychopomp to guide you-”

“A what?”

“One of the gods that can guide spirits to the Underworld. It’s a complex belief system, angel. With strange geography.”

“Where on earth are we going to find one of those who’s willing to help us?”

Crowley shot him a winning grin. “Well, you’re in luck there, angel.”

* * *

“I cannot _believe_ that you’re worshipped as a god here, Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed between his teeth, for approximately the hundredth time since the big reveal. He was deeply offended, though he couldn’t quite put his angelic finger on why. He supposed it was something to do with the whole God/god thing. It was blasphemous, and even though Crowley was a demon and that was sort-of his business, it just seemed _wrong._

“Angel, they already think I’m about twenty different mythological monsters, what’s the difference?”

“Gods are different! There is only one God, and She isn’t lounging around here on earth making a nuisance of Herself!”

Crowley shrugged. “You do remember that I’m a demon, don’t you? Sometimes you seem to forget. The whole point is that I offend Her eyes and all that. It’s sort of why I’m here.”

Aziraphale had nothing to say to that, so he focused his glare on the dark cave in front of them. There was a strange quality to the air, an uncomfortable rippling of un-reality that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was very clearly vortex-space, the kind of cave that might take the right person somewhere else entirely, and it was… well, it was unnerving. Aziraphale was pretty sure that this was not a place where angels were supposed to be. It might not be demonic, but it certainly wasn’t right.

Crowley was watching him again, and his eyes were bright in the dim light of the dying day, gold and gleaming. He held out a hand, and it looked like everything that Aziraphale shouldn’t touch, all manner of sin coiled in slim fingers, skin pale, but it was hard to believe that anything evil could truly live in those fine blue veins, light and fragile beneath the skin.

Aziraphale took his hand, and Crowley led him into the cave.

As they left the last tendrils of weak sunlight behind, there was a sudden, _sucking_ feeling, as though the air around them had been pulled out in a massive whoosh. And then the world settled around them again, normal and strange all at once.

“We’re here,” Crowley told him, rather unnecessarily.

“It’s very dark,” Aziraphale remarked, a little unhappily. He was still holding Crowley’s hand, not quite ready to let go: he could see Crowley still, but not clearly, and it was dark enough that he couldn’t even really make out his own feet when he looked down.

“It’s alright,” Crowley told him. “Just hold on and follow me, I won’t steer you wrong.”

There was a whole lot to unpack in that, but Aziraphale decided to do what he did best and ignore it completely. He trailed after him, tucked half-behind Crowley.

“How can you tell where we’re going?” Aziraphale asked, stumbling over his own feet- again.

“Magic,” Crowley told him glibly, but when he turned to offer Aziraphale a smile his eyes were even brighter than usual, as if they were absorbing the light around them, although Aziraphale knew that couldn’t be true. His pupils were bigger than Aziraphale had ever seen them, the colour now just a ring of gold around them.

Huh. Crowley could see in the dark. He supposed it was a useful skill to have, in his line of work.

Slowly, they moved through a landscape that Aziraphale could not see, and slowly it grew lighter around them, until eventually he could make out their surroundings, although they weren’t particularly appealing – grey rubble and dark earth, stretching indeterminately away until they blurred to misty shrouds that seemed to flicker with movement each time Aziraphale began to look away. But soon enough the landscape changed, evening out to pale sand, silvery in the dim light that didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular.

“Can I hear water?” he asked, but Crowley squeezed his hand quickly.

“It might be best if you don’t say anything for a bit,” he said, apologetically. “Just until we cross the river. Charon can be a bit… particular.”

Aziraphale was about to ask for a little more detail than that but, before he could, a river came into view, its waters dark and unappealing. There was no real differentiation along its banks but for one short pier, its wood dank and rotten looking. Tiedthere was a boat, small and rocking gently in the water.

“This is the river Styx,” Crowley whispered, his hand shifting from Aziraphale’s to grasp him tightly around the wrist instead. “It’s also a goddess, everything can be anything here. She’s the personification of hatred, and not very much fun, particularly if you beat her at poker one too many times. Don’t fall in.”

Aziraphale shot him an unimpressed look, one that said _‘this advice is neither useful nor necessary.’_ , but Crowley ignored him, leading him out onto the pier. It seemed to shift under their feet, the wood creaking ominously.

“Charon, mate? You around? Need to pop across.”

From inside the boat, a writhing, dark mist appeared, flowing into a rough form of a man and settling eventually into a solid figure. He was tall and broad, but thin, the skin of his face stretched too tight across his bones. Rather than eyes, the hollows in his face were lit with balls of blazing, furious fire, and he levelled a glare at Crowley.

“ _Hekate_ ,” he said, and though it looked like his voice would be a boom it was actually a hiss, quiet and disconcerting. “You are not your normal form.”

Crowley shook his head and his hair fell longer around his shoulders, his features softening a little at the jaw.

“Better?” he asked, and Charon snorted.

He had not yet looked at Aziraphale, the angel realised: hadn’t even acknowledged him.

“It matters not to me,” the ferryman said. “Look however you please. But you can make your own way across the river, you have no need for me.”

“I’m exhausted, darling,” Crowley said, fluttering his eyelashes a little. “Forgive me? I simply don’t have the energy. I’ve been busy- all that witchy stuff, you know how it is.”

Charon sighed. “Very well. Get in.”

Crowley stepped down, carefully pulling Aziraphale with him. The boat rocked, and Charon narrowed his eyes at Crowley before using his oar to push the boat away from the pier. It glided across the water, making barely a sound.

Aziraphale looked at his friend. There was a fine line of sweat working its way from his brow, down the curve of his cheek, and the grip he had on Aziraphale’s wrist was almost painful. Crowley was disguising him, the angel realised suddenly, and keeping him veiled from view. It took an enormous amount of energy to hide an angel, especially in a place like this, where their own intrinsic power was so diminished, being so far from its natural source. The mortal belief in Crowley as a god here was likely all that made it possible at all, and even so… He wanted to ask Crowley if he was alright, if it hurt, but he already knew the answer, and speaking would only give them both away.

The boat pulled in at a matching pier on the opposite side, rocking against a wooden pillar with a soft thud. The two negotiated their way out of the boat carefully, trying hard not to give the game away. Aziraphale could just imagine tripping now, accidentally wrenching himself out of Crowley’s grip, but he was careful, and soon enough Crowley was waving Charon away. Once the ferryman slipped from view Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale felt the gentle touch of Crowley’s power slip away from him, though he had not felt it gather in the first place.

“Thank you,” he said, and Crowley smiled, a gentle little thing.

“Welcome,” he replied, and his hand slid back into Aziraphale’s. The angel knew he should let go, that he shouldn’t encourage this sort of thing, but he didn’t: he rubbed his thumb tentatively across Crowley’s skin instead.

“Shall we go find a dog?”

Crowley sighed. “I suppose we must.”

On this side of the river things were markedly more distinct and perhaps even a little nicer, though Aziraphale had to avert his eyes from the next river they passed, which seemed to moan at them in a deeply disconcerting, ominously manner. There were a number of other people moving around, strange gods with dark veils across their faces and goddesses crying silver tears, but none spared them a glance other than the occasional, familiar nod in Crowley’s direction.

“All the best gods hang out down here,” Crowley whispered. “There’s Anxiety, Grief, Agony… all the fun stuff. I think they like the flaming river, myself. You can toast surprisingly good marshmallows on it if you’re willing to risk falling in.”

Aziraphale did not answer him- he had just caught sight of Cerberus.

“Oh, that’s bloody ridiculous,” he mumbled. “No dog needs that many heads. The poor thing must be so confused.”

Crowley didn’t say anything; he was looking pale but determined, and had apparently procured the most impossibly comedic-looking link of sausages from somewhere about his person.

“You have to be kidding,” said Aziraphale flatly.

“I never kid,” Crowley lied, lyingly. “Now, I’ll throw the sausages to distract it, you grab one head and I’ll get another, and then between us-”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The voice that cut over the demon’s attempt at a plan was not particularly loud, but it did not have to be. It was the kind of voice that would sneak up behind you in a dark alley and slit your throat before you had even realised you weren’t alone anymore.

Crowley froze, a look of abject misery settling over his features.

“Your Highness,” he said, turning to face the goddess watching them, her arms folded and face carved from diamond. Everything about Crowley was a little bit snake-y, but his voice right now practically slithered. His eyes darted back and forth, clearly trying to think up a good excuse – particularly for the presence of Aziraphale, who he was no longer disguising.

“Are you trying to steal my husband’s dog?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have you smuggled a hero in here and are actually trying to _help_ him steal from the Underworld?”

She said the word ‘hero’ the way most people said cockroach and Aziraphale felt vaguely offended, even though he was pretty sure that applying the word ‘hero’ to him was an exercise in creative thinking at best, and an offence to all actual heroes at worst.

“No?” Crowley said, looking even paler now. “Because I definitely wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that.”

“The Underworld has no tolerance for thieves, and our punishments are strict,” she said, frowning. Her face wasn’t pretty, really, though it might have been once, when she was much younger. There was a grace to her features, but something terrifying too, something about the haunted power that lit her skin, the echoes of the scythe in her collarbones.

“In fairness, we haven’t actually stolen anything,” Aziraphale remarked, helpfully. “Well, I’m not sure where the sausages came from, but I’m pretty sure even if Crow- _Hekate_ did steal them, it wasn’t from here.”

“Stop talking,” Crowley hissed through his teeth as the goddess’ cool gaze turned to examine the angel instead.

“Do you know who I am, mortal?” she asked, her voice rich and heavy in the way of putrefying flesh, deeply unpleasant.

“I could use the context clues to hazard a guess,” Aziraphale said with what he thought was a winning grin but actually just made him look like an overly keen street magician.

“I am the Queen of this realm,” she said, and though she did not raise her voice it seemed that the very air was standing to attention, as if every molecule had straightened up perceptibly, “second to no one, equal only to my husband and king. I am _melinoia, aristi cthonia, dems-potnia_. I heap the curses and torment on those souls of mortals who have earned punishment, and it is my name they fear to say whilst living, in case I should pay too much attention to them.”

“Persephone,” Aziraphale said unnecessarily, without any of his characteristic fluster. There were many ranks of angels above him, and a lot of them liked to do this sort of thing. None of this grandstanding was new to him. 

His lack of fear seemed to take the goddess by surprise and she stared at him, taking him in properly. Beside him, Crowley slapped his forehead.

“Many apologies, your Highness,” Aziraphale said, but Persephone raised a hand, palm outwards, to silence him. Her eyes were dark pools of liquid glass, shining and sharp. She reached her other hand out to Aziraphale.

“I would read your palm,” she said, and it was not a request. Aziraphale put out his hand, expecting her to grasp and study it, but all she did was place her fingertips against his skin- they were oddly cool- and closed her eyes.

“You’re different,” she said, slowly. “It is not just that the golden god has placed a curse on you... You both are, but Hekate is something similar enough to us. You, however – you are something shining wrapped in the flesh of a man. I don’t like it, because I can feel my own end in there somewhere, wrapped up in histories that haven’t happened yet.”

She looked away abruptly. “I am a legislator of the dead, a judge of the soul, and every mortal and immortal has a core of feeling deep within them. Some people hold something rotten and, no matter what they do, that rot always festers eventually, like fruit on a tree not meant to be picked. Mine is anger, you know, or that’s what they tell me. It is why my mother knew I would not be content to be by her side forever, an innocent girl picking flowers. My husband’s is hope – deep down, in the silver veins of his heart, he dreams, and he waits to see the good in people. Hekate – or whatever their real name is – is held together by fear. But not the rotten kind – the watchful, anxious kind. He’s waiting for people to leave him, for the story to have a sad ending.”

Crowley looked away, a flush of crimson staining his high cheekbones.

“And what did you read in me?” Aziraphale asked, curious.

She smiled, just a little, for the first time.

“You are strange and joyful- there is much hope in you, too,” she said. For a moment, her eyes were a little softer and Aziraphale wondered if she was thinking about her husband. “But your core is love, you strange creature. A love so huge and expansive that it will get you into trouble in the end, I think. You love this world, you love the people in it.”

Her gaze flickered to Crowley, imperceptibly.

“It is very difficult not to trust that kind of love.”

Aziraphale let out the sigh he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Does that mean we might be able to borrow your dog for a bit?”

Unexpectedly- delightfully- Persephone smiled broadly.

“I think we can probably arrange something.”

* * *

“Well, that turned out a lot better than I was expecting,” Aziraphale said, though he was holding tightly to Cerberus’ lead and looking rather discomforted. The dog, despite their worst fears, had been very well behaved, though it had made little difference to the mortal king, who had been absolutely terrified at the sight and had hidden behind his throne until they took the dog away. . Apparently he had asked for the dog in an attempt to piss off a local hero, never actually expecting anyone to go through with the quest. He had refused to even look at Cerberus, and as such, they had spent less than five minutes inside before being unceremoniously kicked out. Technically, the King had already decreed the task completed as part of his attempts to get rid of them, so they didn’t have to return the dog, but neither of them were willing to get on Persephone’s bad side by not doing as they had promised.

They walked slowly through the countryside at they returned to the entrance to the Underworld. The day was getting on, but Cerberus seemed to be enjoying himself, and so Aziraphale was insisting that they take their time to let him enjoy himself. Mist had settled over the land, thick, heavy and clinging, so that Aziraphale found himself shivering and slightly damp- until, that is, Crowley summoned him a pleasantly warm wrap. It had been black when Crowley handed it to him, but over the last few minutes it had been struggling its way to white, so that now it was a rather streaky grey.

The evening had set in, the light of the low sun muted by mist so that everything around them was grey too, ethereal and strange, not too dissimilar from the Underworld. Drops of water clung to low-hanging branches of the cypress trees around them, silvery and delicate like jewels.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, staring off into the indistinct distance. “Is it just me, or is there something strange and glowing in front of us?”

“Oh, it’s not just you,” Crowley replied. “I’ve been watching it for a while. I don’t think it’s moving, but we’re definitely getting closer to it.”

“Do we… do we try and go around?”

Crowley huffed a small sound through his nose. “I suspect no matter where we go, we’ll end up there with it. It feels like one of those unavoidable narrative scenes that we’re going to have to engage with at some point.”

“That’s not reassuring at all.”

The glow was getting brighter, light leeching through the softness of the mist in a way that made it appear thicker, rather than less. As they got closer, they began to make out the shape of a man amongst the glow. He appeared to be perching on a low wall, watching them approach.

“Hello,” said Apollo, as they drew level. The glow, they realised, was coming from his skin, his eyes, his hair – from all of him, and it was far more dramatic than it had appeared the first time Aziraphale had seen him, although whether that was by accident or design was unclear.

“Um,” Aziraphale replied, floundering.

“So, it seems you have completed your list of tasks,” said the god, not looking very happy about it, “and I have a few questions.”

“No congratulations?” Crowley asked, causing Apollo to turn the force of his glare to him.

“You cheated.”

“I absolutely did not,” Aziraphale replied, offended. He had completed every one of his tasks, and sure maybe not all of them were strictly by the book, but as far as he was concerned the end result was the same. After all, the kings had signed off on them.

Apollo was still scowling at Crowley. “It doesn’t count if you have help!”

Crowley pulled a face. “I haven’t been helping. If anything, I’ve been a hindrance. I’m a terrible demon of the darkest pits: I only do mean, terrible things. Terribly.”

“Are you… do you actually think you’re kidding anyone or is this some kind of a skit?”

Crowley shrugged indifferently. “Whichever keeps you up at night.”

Apollo stared at him for a moment before shaking his head as if to clear a fog of confusion, and then he turned back to Aziraphale, still looking distinctly unimpressed.

“I don’t know what part of this whole system you don’t understand-”

“I understood it fully,” Aziraphale retorted. “And I completed the tasks. I don’t think I should have had to do them in the first place, but even so, I did, and just because you don’t like my methods or my friend doesn’t mean that you get to come here and tell us off. Thank you.”

Crowley was grinning. “You tell him, angel.”

A spike of light hit them both in the chest, and the tickle of power running through their bodies, crackling along their ribcages, made them clench their jaws, grinding their teeth. They felt the threat of it, the divine, shaping power leeching into their cells to try to force them into another form. But Apollo’s power did not have true dominance over them: their forms had been constructed by a higher power, and he had no authority to shift it. After a moment the feeling receded, leaving them unchanged and unaffected.

Apollo was blinking, looking for all the world like a child being told no for the first time in his spoiled life. And it might well be that this was the first time that he hadn’t managed to get his way.

“Sorry mate,” Crowley said, grinning in a slightly threatening way. “No dice.”

Aziraphale smiled, in a kinder manner than Apollo technically deserved.

“Now, are you going to lift this curse and let us return this dog, or are we going to have a problem?”

Unsurprisingly, Apollo lifted the curse.

* * *

Persephone was waiting, arms folded, at the entrance of the cave, though her expression softened a little at the sight of them. Behind her, reclining against the cave wall and mostly hidden by shadow, was a tall and serious looking god with threads of silver and gold running across his skin, semi-precious veins. It had taken them all night to walk back to the entrance, but neither of them had fancied making her wait any longer than they had to. The path down to the cave was slippery and would have been difficult to see in the faint light of pre-dawn, but a line of torches flared to life as they approached, lighting their way.

“Well done,” she said, as Aziraphale handed the lead over. “I see the curse has lifted.”

“Yes, apparently so,” the angel replied with a smile. “Thanks to you. And, I suppose, your dog.”

Persephone reached down to Cerberus, running her hands gently over each of his heads, as if to check he was quite okay. The dog made a surprisingly high-pitched yip of pleasure, and she ruffled his – several pairs of – ears.

“Do you think the people will tell tales of your exploits?” she asked.

“If they do, I’m sure they will get most of the details wrong.”

“They do have a habit of doing that,” she replied with a wry smile.

“I suppose you would know about that,” Aziraphale said carefully. The goddess did not say anything but behind her the god snorted, though its meaning was unclear. Persephone nodded to them, before turning and retreating further into the cave. Cerberus followed without question, watching his queen with adoring eyes. Passing the god, she reached out and he took her hand, raising it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles.

Aziraphale and Crowley stood a moment, waiting, as the King and Queen disappeared into shadow. Then Crowley sighed, and it sounded exactly as exhausted as he felt, finally having finished this ridiculous few weeks. He turned, and Aziraphale followed, making their slow way down the path away from the cave. The torches extinguished themselves with a small huff of displaced air as the light grew slowly brighter, though the day had not dawned yet.

Aziraphale sighed too, but in a slightly satisfied way. “I’ve rather enjoyed this.”

Crowley rounded on him, his eyes wide. “You’ve _enjoyed_ it?”

“Well… yes, kind of. It’s been a bit of fun, hasn’t it?”

Crowley was still staring. “Aziraphale, this has been horrible and you’ve hated every minute of it.”

The angel shifted, not quite looking at him. “Not every minute.”

“Most of them,” Crowley said with a huff. “I mean, I’ve had fun but I’m a demon.”

“Which part did you find fun?”

“Oh, I don’t know, most of the things we do together are pretty fun.” Crowley, having realised what he had said, suddenly found the stony path beneath their feet absolutely fascinating. They came to a fork in the path, one side heading back to the fields and eventually the rest of the world – and the other to the sea. He took the second choice, hoping Aziraphale would follow. Which, of course, he did.

“Hush,” Aziraphale told him, but there was a flustered blush lingering somewhere around his collarbones, “you don’t mean that.”

“I do mean that. You know I do.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything to that, but he didn’t really need to. It was clear enough that the angel knew the truth of it.

“Where are we going?” he asked, after a moment. They were walking down a cliff path, the sea an endless stretch to their side. On the horizon the sun was about to rise, just about to peek over that faint line between sea and sky: a glow of the faintest pinks and golds fading into the navy blue of the receding night.

A faint smattering of stars lingered, only the brightest and closest left, and as Crowley looked up at them he remembered briefly a time long ago, when he was a whole other person with a whole other name, and his job had been to paint them into creation. A whole other life, a whole other time, and there was no part of him willing to trade the person he was now for that person who had existed so long ago, no matter how much the aching cavern in his chest sometimes longed to belong to a bigger order again. The sea air tasted clean in his mouth, the brine making him think of changing tides and new beginnings.

“I don’t mind,” Crowley replied eventually. “We could go anywhere. Anywhere you like, angel.”

He waited for the inevitable distancing, the moment Aziraphale would separate himself from Crowley and say it was time to go their separate ways, to return to their different lines.

Somewhere above them gods were watching, and somewhere below them too, and no doubt, in some unfathomable and distant place, the actual God might well have had Her eyes on them as well. There were things they had to do and personas they had to maintain, plans and places and the whole of human history laid out before them. Crowley knew they should spend all that time together, but he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale had quite caught up with that yet.

“Alright,” the angel replied, and Crowley looked to him in surprise, out of the corner of his eyes, trying not to make too dramatic a movement in case it should startle Aziraphale and remind him of what they should and should not be doing.

“I fancy breakfast,” Aziraphale continued, and his fingertips brushed against Crowley’s. “Shall we find somewhere? I imagine there’ll be a little place around here somewhere.”

“You’re the eternal optimist,” Crowley said, but he moved a little closer.

Then again, perhaps She wasn’t watching – there was a whole universe after all, and no doubt there were more exciting things out there than the two of them, walking slowly together as the sun rose again, and the heat of the dawn warmed their skin. 

* * *

_An indeterminate amount of time later..._

"And you're absolutely sure that's what happened?" the mythographer asked, staring incredulously at the group of old women, who were all nodding their heads. "It's not that I doubt you, I fully respect the traditions and accuracy of oral histories and so on, but doesn't all this seem a little... strange to you?"

"Not sure what you mean," one particularly wizened looking grandmother replied. "That's just what happened. It might not be as fancy or magical or heroic as you want it to be, but that's not really our problem."

The mythographer stared down at his notes. "I may have to change some things if I want to get this published."

The grandmother sighed. "I suspected as much."

"And what did you say his name was again?"

"My grandmother, and her grandmother before her, always said that the name of the hero was Aziraphale. Apparently he really liked grapes."

"Yeah, you see, that kind of name won't sell. We need something a bit more Greek. A bit more... heroic."

"What were you thinking?"

The mythographer paused for a moment, staring off into space. 

"How about... Herakles?"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed - let me know what you think, and feel free to come to my tumblr, where you can find links to my edits, ko-fi, and much more. And hey, if you want to come yell about Greek mythology or ancient history, hit me up.


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